#I’m on a quest now lads

[spineless-lobster]

Hmgngmhmgmnhmgmhmhmhm I need to read the odyssey NOW!!!!!!!

[stacy-fakename]

I’m sorry, but my type-a ass cannot be against the Rat Grinders. They’re essentially the kids that couldn’t get the special treatment from teachers and get by on stumbling through tests and happening to get an A without studying. The Rat Grinders feel less like people who cheated the system, and more like the kids who aren’t naturally gifted or lucky, and have to spends hours on end studying, doing extra homework and extra credit, losing their social lives and free time to catch up with the kids who can just breeze through it. Fig never went to a single class or did any homework but gets away with it because the coach, lunch lad, and vice principal are her dads, Kristin and Riz did literally the worst thing their respective class can do, Gorgug actively works to avoid using the main feature of his class whenever possible, Adaine became the Oracle through seemingly happenstance, and Fabian’s rich family bought his way into the extra curricular he’s now the captain of, and all of them skipped half of freshman year! Obviously we, the audience, know that they worked their asses off to get through school each year and to get where the are today. We know they earned every little good thing they have! Fig has worked so hard to become the rockstar she is! Kristin literally brought back a god! Riz in a supergenius detective! Gorgug is an incredible barbarian and artificer! Adaine works so hard to help all of her friends survive a toxic system! Fabian slaved away to earn his achievements himself instead of letting his father’s legacy be his identity! But think of it from an outside perspective, without all the knowledge that only the audience has! These random kids stumbled into three adventures that let them skip grinding for XP, got to miss half a year with no consequence, get special privileges and quests because they are related to or friends with the faculty, never do their assignments or go to class, became popular because of their privileges, and now randomly start spouting micro aggressions towards halflings? If I was one of the Rat Grinders, I’d be pissed off too! I’ve been both the gifted kid, seemingly effortlessly breezing through classes and befriending the entire faculty while secretly going through terrible struggle and stress, and the kid desperately trying to game my way through a system built to harm me while being furious at those who seem to thrive in it, and I can’t help but feel empathy for both. I don’t think the Rat Grinders are evil, cheating monsters who plan to destroy the Bad Kids out of spite. I think they’re just kids in a harmful toxic school system that have a lot of righteous anger at their lot in life, that has sadly been misdirected. Idk if this ramble made sense, sorry for the wall of text!

Edit:Introducing Ivy Embra, the first Rat Grinder to actually be antagonistic to anyone in any way! Also introducing Oisin Hakivar, a super nice guy who’s willing to take advantage of his generational wealth in order to help a fellow student! So the first Rat Grinder to actively be nice to someone too! He likely did something with the ice mephits, but he still seemed genuinely sympathetic and helpful to Adaine!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

where the brook bends

the wistful wyvern, chapter two

a/n: something about fighting giant spiders just feels so quintessential skyrim...

summary: “you are two of my most trusted warriors. If it can’t be me out there, then it should be you two,” his glance then shifted between you both as he noticed the look on your face, “unless, of course, you have any objections.” 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity, arachnophobia (giant spiders), weapons, violence, bathing in a river

word count: 2243

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“This is the third time in two years that dragon has attacked us,” the king’s jaw clenched, “third time, and we still don’t know how to slay it,” leaned against the central table in the war room, he glanced up to find Bucky’s eyes, “I was planning on going on a mission to gather intel, find its lair, study the beast, but–… things have changed,” on a heavy exhale, he let his eyes momentarily fall shut, “I need to stay here,” he stated slowly, “I can’t risk my life on a quest like this, not now that Cordelia is born… so,” his gaze fluttered back open, “I’m here to ask the two of you to take care of it.”  

Shooting a glance over at Bucky, you hesitantly uttered, “us?” 

You wanted to say no. A mission such as this could take months, and being stuck with Bucky for that long, just the two of you on the road, having to work so closely together, it might break you for good.

But then when Steve’s gaze locked with your own, the declination got stuck in your throat. 

“You are two of my most trusted warriors. If it can’t be me out there, then it should be you two,” his glance then shifted between you both as he noticed the look on your face, “unless, of course, you have any objections.” 

“No, of course not, your majesty,” you swiftly replied, knowing that this plague was so much bigger than your own little feelings, “it would be an honour.” 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order, it should be under the name Y/l/n.”

“Ah, yes,” the blacksmith nodded with recognition, “your blades are right over here,” he turned to retrieve them, “it was five new daggers, correct?” he glanced over his shoulder as he gathered the crafted arms in his grasp.

“Oh, six actually,” you slightly raised yourself up onto your toes to catch a glimpse. 

“Right,” he turned his attention back to the table of finished and shiny weapons, “uh–”

But then before the blacksmith could begin to panic, a young apprentice came running over from the forge, “uncle, here!” and handed him the last dagger, “sorry, I was sharpening them and forgot one of them by the grinding stone.” 

“Thank you, Peter,” he then let his expert eye wash over the metal, “ah, you’re getting better!” a bright grin crept up on the lad's face, “excellent work, my boy,” the blacksmith then walked back to where you waited and slid the cloth-bound blades over the soot-stained counter, “here you are, miss.”

“How much do I owe you?” you opened up your coin purse and began to flick through the change. 

“Oh, no,” his hands raised up before him, “no charge,” a gentle shake tipped his head, “that’s already been taken care of by his royal majesty himself.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “received a letter yesterday morning for anything that you, or your other warden friend out there, might need, to put it on his tab.” 

“Alright, then,” a grateful chuckle bubbled out of you, “thank you.” 

And as you headed back out of the open smithy onto the quaint streets of Borün, the proprietor cheerily called after you, “have a good day!”

“You too!” you glanced back over your shoulder and offered the two figures a small wave. 

Nestled in a t-intersection, the heat of blacksmith swiftly got soothed by the breeze from the docks that bloomed only a few storefronts down to the left. The melody of gentle waves crashing against the harbour sloshed directly into your soul. One seagull had even dared to bravely wander past you into the town square that unfolded in the opposite direction. Casting a brief glance down there, by the bistro on the corner, you saw an energetic child spring and flee from the rest of their family, as they sat around one of the cosy outdoor seating options and enjoyed a quiet lunch, to favour a sprint around the vast tree that stood rooted in the centre of the square. 

“Did you get what you needed?” Bucky asked as you exited the shop, his grasp clutched tight around the reins of both Echo, his own horse that had a shiny black coat, as well as Zenna, the brown spotted mare you’d ridden for years. 

“Yep,” you tugged the newly acquired weapons into one of the saddlebags strapped to your horse, “you ready to go or do you have any last-minute errands before we head out?”

“Nope, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he exhaled as you slid up onto Zenna, “let’s head out.”

“So, the dragon always escaped out west,” Bucky spoke, shooting a glance in your direction as you rode beside him, “every time, it was that direction.” 

“Hm…” you searched your inner map, your vision dancing betwixt the trees you passed as you cut through the south-eastern corner of The Noll Woods, “could it be dwelling out by Anng?”

“Maybe…” he cocked his head, “there are a lot of small islands all along that part of the coast, maybe it could have claimed one of them?”

“Possibly…” one of your brows then tilted up as a theory struck you, “or perhaps it’s even closer than that,” your neck twisted and you met his eye, “The Asadånie Mountains.”

“That certainly is a possibility,” his gaze averted as he thought on it, “I mean, the mountain range is immensely vast and dangerous by design. I don’t even think it’s ever been properly represented on a map yet with how few venture up there.” 

A noise then suddenly found your ear. A shrill clicking call from somewhere within the forest. 

“Shh, shut up,” you swiftly snapped as you pulled on the reins to stop your horse. 

Not hearing your hushed tone, Bucky kept on rambling, “it’s perfectly tucked away and secluded for a creature such as a dragon.”

“Barnes, I mean it, shut up,” you raised your voice sternly as your eyes raked the overgrown area around you. 

“What?” he finally stopped as well a few paces ahead of you, “what is it?” 

Sliding off of Zenna, you carefully looked around, listening intently for the sound that had chilled your bones. 

You should have looked up, because if you had, then you would have maybe spotted the giant spiders lurking before they dropped down from their vast webs spun throughout the treetops above. 

When one pounced on you, its curled fangs gnashing for a bite of your flesh, Bucky jumped off of Echo, though didn’t reach you before two skittered out to get him.

Drawing a dagger in each of your grasps, you then sank both of them into the spider’s dark and clustered eyes, twisting them clockwise before it sank to the forest floor below. 

As you yanked them back out, a spray of ickier trailed your blades, even as you turned to throw one of them into the bigger of the creatures advancing on your comrade, your aim slaying it instantaneously, the viscus scattered against the side of your face at the toss. 

But then a fourth one came from out of nowhere and pinned you down in the dirt. With the weapon still in your palm, your reach was too limited to strike it anywhere vital, though you still dealt a few blows where you could. Pierce it open above you, slimy viscera spilt out and showered your struggling form. 

On your next attack, the hilt of your blade managed to get stuck in the tough hide of the monster, and with the spider guts that slicked up not only your grasp, you began to fear you wouldn’t be able to pry it back out. 

But just before your hands slipped, as you tried to push it off of you and not render you its dinner, the spider suddenly went limp above you and you glanced up to see a thick bolt splitting its skull.

“Hey,” you snapped as you scrambled up onto your feet, “I had that one!”

Swinging his crossbow back over his shoulder, Bucky simply smirked, “sure, you did,” and bent down to pick up the dagger you tossed to save him, briefly flipping it playfully in his palm before he glanced up and threw it. For a split second, your eyes went wide, but then the short blade flew past your ear, and as your neck twisted to follow it, you watched as it logged itself into a younger spider you hadn’t noticed till now. 

As the horses grazed and drank from the nearby stream, you unfastened your own bedroll from the back of Zenna. 

When it was nestled under your arm, you offered the horse a gentle pat before turning back to the makeshift camp for the night. Sparks finally began to dance from Bucky’s efforts and the pile of twigs he had gathered was set aflame. 

Once your bedroll was unfurled on the mossy ground, you quietly sat atop of it, chewing on some dry rations you’d found in the bottom of your satchel and stared at the sun as it slowly sank into the horizon. As your vision danced between soft pink clouds in the lavender sky, your gaze suddenly grew wide as Bucky stood up from his side of the fire and began to shed his clothes. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he peeled off the partial chainmail he wore and swiftly the dark blue tunic beneath, revealing his bare back to you before he cast a glance over his shoulder.

“Going for a dip. What does it look like I’m doing?” not slowing down at your alarm, he fiddled with his belt and stepped closer to the riverbank, “you know, you could use one as well,” he playfully added before stripping off the last of his clothing, “you reek of spider guts, my friend,” your gaze instantly fled up towards the sky before you could see more than just his backside. 

At the splash of his jumping into the water, you subtly sniffed yourself before reluctantly uttering, “alright, fine,” and you pushed yourself up to your feet. After gathering a clean shirt as well as a wide rag to dry yourself off with from your supplies, you piped up again, “but you stay up here, I’ll go find somewhere more private further down.”

“Ah, come on, snow, you don’t have to do that!” he argued as you began to wander away, “what do you want me to turn around? Promise not to sneak a peek at your goods?” 

But you just kept up your stride and called over your shoulder, “enjoy your bath, Barnes!”

The stream luckily curved slightly a ways further down. Not a lot, but enough to grant you enough assurance to give it a go. After you’d peeled off your layers of clothing and the pieces of leather armour that protected your frame, you slowly dipped a toe into the cool water. 

The blushing skies slowly melted into black as you bathed in the river. When you took a moment to rinse out the ivory tunic you’d worn, your gaze flickered down the stream to spot Bucky as he splashed water up onto the part of him not submerged. As droplets danced down his skin, you nearly stopped breathing entirely as you followed their trail down to what the water obscured. 

But then, like snapping awake from a dream, the dizzying sensation gave away to the depressing reality. 

Once you’d scrubbed and cleaned yourself the best that you could, the stars above began to twinkle as you patted your skin dry and shrugged on the acquired clean shirt, a burgundy one, as well as the rest of your attire. 

When you found your way back towards the camp, Bucky was already sitting by the fire, dressed and with his hair still dripping gently and turning the shoulders of his navy tunic nearly as dark as the night sky. 

After you’d hung your wet shirt over a nearby branch, without sharing another word with the other warden you travelled with, you laid down on your bedroll and closed your eyes. 

But before too long, Bucky’s low timbre found your ears over the crackling of the fire.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“Uh, I’m trying to fall asleep,” you sighed loudly, “just as you should.” 

“No, I mean what’s going on?” he persisted, “are you mad at me or something?” 

Your eyes then blinked open to stare up at the stares, “why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know, yet you’ve given me the cold shoulder ever since you came back from Efira,” he then asked, “did something happen there?”

“Other than comb through tombs with a boring ass lord,” you huffed, “no, nothing happened.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded. 

The muscles in your jaw clenched tightly before you uttered, “nothing’s wrong.” 

“Did I do something to piss you off?” he kept pushing, “because if so, I’m sorry.”

Your muscles flexed as you forcefully raised yourself up on onto an elbow and twisted to shoot him a glare, “look, we are here on an important mission. We don’t have to be all buddy-buddy and reminisce about old times in order to get the job done, alright?”

Dark brows tightly knitted together, he stared back at you before eventually huffing, “fine.”

“Great,” you then heatedly flopped back down and tensely turned your back to him, “goodnight.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Always my beloved; Thorin Oakenshield x reader

*Author’s note*

For my first ever Thorin Oakenshield story I hope I did you Thorin fans justice with this sweet little oneshot. So @firestrike004​ thank you soo much for your patience and I hope you all enjoy this fic.  

Not really any warnings just injuries, some fluff, some angst (fairly minor but still some people need warnings).

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queen-paladin​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

____________________________________________________________

We knew the risk of going on this quest, but never did I think we’d come across the bane of Thorin’s family, Azog the Defiler.  We had believed he had died back at the battle of Azanulbizar from his wounds but low and behold there he was astride upon his infamous white warg.  We barely made our escape thanks to our burglar as well as the Great Eagles I had read so much about as a young dwarrow-dam.

Now we decided to take some rest to rest and for Thorin to recover.  The wounds from Azog’s warg were probably the worst I had ever seen and I’ve doctored warg bites before.  But thankfully with both mine and Oin’s help, my beloved should be back to his old strength within a few days.

Aye I did say beloved. Thorin and I are currently in the courting stage of our relationship, and have been for these past 5 summers. He had made a vow to me that once he would reclaim Erebor, we would finally be wed and I would rule at his side as Queen Under the Mountain.

Of course at first when Gandalf had persuaded Thorin to go on this quest, he wanted me to have absolutely no part in it.  In fact he had tried to send me off to live with his cousin Dain in the Iron-hills for safe keeping until the Mountain was reclaimed.  And being the stubborn female dwarf I am, I can be just as stubborn of not more than Thorin Oakenshield himself.

After some heated words, and even a fight to decide my fate, Thorin had kept his word that after defeating him in combat I had a right to go alongside the Quest.  In fact I was one of the first after Dwalin and Balin had agreed to follow Thorin.

I had just changed out Thorin’s bandages as well as flushed out any signs of infections before they could spread and cause his healing to delay or worse make him sick. As I returned to put my stuff back into the pack, I caught sight of Bilbo sitting down to some of Bombur’s stew. I walked over to him and asked.

“Mind if I join you?” he turned to me.

“Not at all (Y/n).” Hobbits truly were polite people.  Even back at his home when I was the only one out of the 13 dwarves to not to help myself to his food cabinet, he graciously tried to offer me something before one of the boys took it for themselves.  I took my seat next to him and he asked, “Do you mind if I—”

“Oh not at all Bilbo, please eat. Mahal knows we’ve been practically starving you since this quest began.” When we were in Rivendell and I caught Bilbo eating both dinner and supper within just a few short hours apart he had told me that Hobbits have seven meals every day.  I took it upon myself to first apologize for starving the poor lad and then when breakfast came that day, I had helped the Elves with serving something not only for the Dwarves but for Bilbo as well.

As he went to his stew, he took a few sips before looking around and whispered to me.

“How’s Thorin?” the lad truly has grown fond of my beloved.  Especially after what had happened along the Misty Mountains.

“He’ll live fortunately. Unfortunately for him, he’ll have to be put on bed rest for the next 24-48hours before he can even move. Warg bites are nothing to sniffle or chuckle at. And believe me getting Thorin to stay on bedrest is a challenge in on itself.”

“No doubt I imagine. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of it being Thorin’s wife.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve been called Thorin’s widow.” He stopped his eating and looked at me.  I placed my hand on his shoulder and continued, “What you did last night Bilbo, it’s something that I can never truly repay you for.”

“There-there really is no need to repay me. I just did what anyone of you would’ve done. Though I don’t know why I did without no skill of a blade it was all just—”

“Instinct. I get the feeling. But I am grateful nonetheless my friend.” I patted his shoulder.  “And if you’re up for it later today, Bofur and I can show you a thing or two about fighting. Same with Fili and Kili.” He nodded.

“I do appreciate it (Y/n).” I smiled at him before standing up and went off to join the others for my own meal.

Truthfully I don’t know what I would’ve done had I lost Thorin last night.  He and I have known each other since we were young Dwarves in Erebor, my father being one of the King’s proudest and strongest fighters but was sadly killed when the Dragon took our home.  My mother tried her best but she too succumbed to grief leaving me with no family, till Thorin stepped up.

He helped support me when we worked in the villages of Men and when we were finally able to make a temporary home in the Blue Mountains, that’s when my feelings for him began to deepen.  And eventually he came to accept he felt the same for me and never did I think Thorin would ever choose a wife, he never really showed much interest in wanting to court anyone, not since we lost our home.

I reached up to the left side of my hair, brought some of the hair that rested on my back to the front but something was missing.  No it-it cannot be! I looked down at my hair and brushed through it with my fingers and couldn’t see the courting beads Thorin had braided into my hair.  Not only that but some of the strand felt uneven (particularly where the braid once rested).

My heart raced as I tried to remember where and when the last time I felt the braid was. Obviously it was still intact at Rivendell, the Goblin tunnels I still had it, when Azog attacked us and—oh makk an E ha’ak!  When I fought alongside Dwalin, Fili, Kili and Bilbo to hold off the orcs from Thorin before the eagles came, one of them must’ve cut my braid off without my knowing!

A million thoughts were racing through my head.  First it was to curse the orc that did this and that I vowed to kill them if they ever show themselves again.  But most of my thoughts trailed back to Thorin.  What would he say? How will he react? Will he still want to be my One? Will he be furious that I lost his courting bead?

In our customs, a courting bead is so precious and is never given away lightly (especially if your One is someone like Thorin is).  By gaining the bead you’ve not only come to accept your One’s feelings for you, but also accept a courtship and eventual marriage to bond the two of you into one. Losing it or returning it is like having your heart getting grind up, slammed with a forging hammer until it’s nothing but tiny little pieces and then returning the heart to the one who gave you the courting bead.

And never have I once undid the braid nor removed the bead from my hair ever since Thorin gave it to me.  Everyone knew where it lied and if they saw it gone……what would the other’s think? I was so focused on my thoughts that I barely registered that I had walked into someone. When I looked up I had seen that I had walked into Gandalf.

“Oh Gandalf, forgive me.”

“No worries my dear (Y/n).” he looked me over and continued, “You seem to be worried about something.” I looked around to see if any of the others were nearby.  When I saw that no one was within hearing range, I asked Gandalf to come closer to my height with my two fingers.  He knelt down and I whispered to him.

“I’ve lost Thorin’s courtship braid.” He separated from me for a bit as I further explained, “It must’ve been that orc I faced off against when Azog caught us along the Misty Mountains. Gandalf, what if Thorin takes notice of it? Or someone already has and will tell him?”

“Now, now my dear, let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“But Gandalf you know what courting braids mean in our culture. You know what losing one’s courting bead means? I—I can’t lose Thorin. Not again, especially not after last night. He’s all I have left in this world.” He placed both of his hands on my shoulder.

“Thorin may be stubborn but I know he would never do that to you. You both have been through far too much to let something like this be the final straw to divide you both. Remember it’s not just him that’s helped you, you have helped him as well.”

He wasn’t lying. After his grandfather’s death and his father going missing, Thorin was practically lost in how to help our people. Whilst I too, grieved over my father I also had to support Thorin for he was hurting just as much as I was.  We depend on each other and support one another, the other’s beacon of light in the dark mines.

“But how do I tell him Gandalf?” I asked uncertainly.

“You’ll know just what to say my dear girl.” I took a deep breath then exhaled.

“Okay Gandalf, I trust you.”

“And you’ve learned to never doubt it.” He gave me a soft wink before going on his way.  I took a deep breath before heading back to rejoin the others.

The day was spent helping Bilbo train with his sword, scouting out for Azog or his orc pack, and helping Oin with Thorin’s wounds.  Which was what was happening right now, I held onto Thorin’s hand as Oin was once again flushing out the slightly infected bites and stitching them back up. Thorin was tense throughout the whole process.

He never did like to show pain whenever he had to get patched up.  Said he was afraid that others would view him as weak.

“Alright Thorin, just continue to not move about so much and those wounds will heal up quickly.”

“Thank you Oin. I know I’m skilled as a healer but I am nowhere near your degree of knowledge.” I told him.

“Do not doubt your own skills milady.” He told me.  “We’ll be lucky to have you as our Queen once we reclaim the throne. The first Dwarf Queen to be skilled in the knowledge of healing that could be rivaled by the Elves.” Him saying that suddenly gave me an uneasy feeling in my stomach.  As much as I do trust Gandalf in his words from earlier, there’s still a lingering shadow of fear that’s clung itself onto my like a thorn that won’t come out.  He soon left Thorin and I alone and I heard my One say.

“He’s right you know.” I turned to him.  “Never before as a Dwarf woman been so knowledgeable about herbs, healing methods and skills as you have my beloved. Erebor will be lucky to have you as it’s Queen.” He cupped the side of my face, “My only regret is that it will take us longer to get there.”

“Your health is what we should be focused on right now. I would rather Erebor have a King in good health rather than poor or worse dead.” I brushed the long strands of hair from his face before I began braiding it.

“Every hour lost hasten Durin’s day.” I rolled my eyes.

“Thorin. Durin’s day is not going anywhere. It lies on the same day as it always does. Not a week before not a week after. As I said, I would rather have you in good health to rule at my side, than you pushing yourself only to make your health worsen. Even if I have to bind you to this tree I will.”

“Reminds me of the time when you did just that to get me to have me teach you how to fight. Is that how you intend on delivering punishments? Bound the prisoners to trees with your tight knots?”

“Only to those truly stubborn enough not to follow either mine or Doctor Oin’s orders.” We both laughed softly before I gave him a soft kiss.  I felt as his hand went from cupping the side of my face to going around the back of my head, right to where I knew he’d always like to stroke his courting braid.

I separated our kiss and quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from my head.  Immediately I could see the thoughts spinning in his head like a spider’s web.

“What is it (Y/n)?” he asked me.

“Nothing.” I quickly said.

“It’s not nothing. Never before have you stopped me from touching your hair.”

“I—I haven’t had the chance to brush my hair yet.” Even to me that was a pathetic excuse.  Thorin’s brow rose skeptically then he asked me.

“What’s really going on?” I sighed deeply and turned my head away from him.

“I cannot say.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“(Y/n), amrâlimê.” He lifted my chin up to look into his deep blue eyes.  “What was it you once said to me when we first began courting?”

“That there should be no secrets between us.” I answered.

“So why are you starting now?” I sighed heavily, already feeling the wetness of tears forming under my eyes.

“I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That I’ll lose you.”

“(Y/n). These wounds of mine aren’t—”

“It’s not the wounds or in battle that I fear amrâlimê, it’s—” I took another deep breath before I took the section of my hair where he had given his courting bead and showed him how it was now gone.  As I expected his eyes widened in shock as he reached out for the cut strands of my uneven hair and brushed through them.  Almost hoping the bead would reappear along with the braid but it was gone.

“How long has it been missing?” he asked.  His voice stern as I knew he was trying to suppress his anger.

“I only noticed it this morning. My best guess is that it was the orc I was fighting with along the mountainside when Azog ambushed us. I’m sorry Thorin, this is my fault for allowing that foul creature to even graze my hair. I should’ve been more careful I should’ve been more aware of what I was carrying upon my head. I was careless, foolish and—” I was stopped by the feeling of his arms wrapped around me tightly.

“But you are not hurt, yes?”

“No.”

“Then that is enough for me.” I separated our embrace and looked at him in shock, his eyes that were once filled with shock and anger now appeared soft and gentle.

“I don’t understand. Thorin, my courtship braid to you has been severed. Your courting bead lost forever.”

“Mere objects. A new braid can be made, a new bead can be strung into your locks. But there is only one you,” he cupped my face into his hands, his thumbs gingerly stroking the apple of my cheeks just above the strands of my own beard.  “And I could not bear the thought of losing you.”

“You—you still wish to court me?”

“You are my One, (Y/n). Who else would I want as my Queen?”

“I just…..I know how special our courting traditions and symbols are. I was worried if you took notice of your bead and braid missing that you—you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Amrâlimê,” our noses softly grazed one another’s as we stared deeply into each other’s eyes, “I would rather share one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone. You are my One, and nothing will ever change that. As I said, I can give you a new braid, I’ll find you a new bead. A more finer bead once we reach the mountain and reclaim our home. But there is only one of you. And I would be a fool to let someone like you go.”

He then pressed his forehead to mine and I shut my eyes as I felt his love and strength enter me as our forehead remained together.

“I am sorry I doubted your love Thorin.” I said after awhile of silence between us.

“There is no need for apologizes. You are always be my beloved, no matter what the world gives us…..”

“We’ll always be One.” I finished our vows that we made for one another when we first began our courtship together.  He soon moved his lips over mine and once again we kissed.  

His hand going back towards the area where my braid once stood, and I felt his fingers softly brush through those strands of hair and I felt myself finally relax under his touch.

[bluexiao]

#promises are meant to be broken 

—request by @ilumin | scaramouche (as wanderer) meeting the reader for the first time in his “new form” (will have spoilers from the 3.3 archon quest interlude)

—Scaramouche/Wanderer; gn! costume maker! Reader // fluff, reverse hurt/comfort 

SCARAMOUCHE made a promise to himself never to trust anyone. 

There’s a tickle under his skin, electric sparks on the tips of his fingers as he had looked straight ahead and met your eyes. 

At first, he thought that this was just nothing more than just being intrigued—stricken by your appearance and your voice and your smile as you converse with the people around you, yet the very moment he met your gaze, he was stricken by a force he swore he had never felt before. 

A puppet with no heart. Ah, how could he ever have not noticed such a thing? That even he who bears no heart will fall victim to such mortal feelings. Because no matter if all of the hidden memories of his so-called “past” came rushing back to him, the Scaramouche that he once was is different from the one he is now. 

“Oh, it’s you! You’re back!” Your smile at him made him juggle back to the memories of when you came and helped him as soon as you saw him. 

“Your clothes are drenched,” you frown at the sight, “and tattered as well,” before glaring at the man beside him, “did you fight this poor man? I know you’re the only vendor in the Theatre who sells good fruits but I won’t hesitate to surrender you to the-” 

“No! Of course not!” the man instantly denies, “I just found this poor lad all alone in the storm, he was like that when I saw him, I swear, Y/n!” 

The WANDERER back then watches the exchange before you heave a sigh and smile oh-so kindly at him, offering your hand willingly, and with a gentle voice, you say, “Tell you what, I’ll try my best to repair your clothes. I’m not the best there is but… I’m not the costume maker of Zubayr Theatre for nothing!” 

“Wow! The blue suits you well!” you grin as your hands go to your sides, holding onto your waist, scanning him from head to toe, “I did not expect it at all. I only had blue fabrics at that time because of Nilou, and your clothes back then were a total ruin.” 

He immediately senses the upcoming apology, to which he sighs in defeat, crossing his arms on his chest, “There’s no need to apologize. Those clothes… don’t mean to me anymore.” 

Despite how he didn’t have that much of a bite in his words, you seem to have noticed the change in his tone and overall attitude, prompting you to pause and look at him with curious eyes. 

“You finally remembered, didn’t you?” Soft as a feather and as the breeze of the wind, you spoke to him with such gentleness that he could only nod in response. 

“Is it a good thing or a bad thing?” 

You were just a mere mortal, his mind screamed, and yet, he found that this conversation with you was… not as revolting as he once thought it was with the others. 

“I don’t regret anything,” may it be with how he accepted the offer to regain his memories, or with his decision to wipe out his identity, or with his previous transgressions and sins—a wanderer like him has no such things. After all, regret is what ties one to his past, and that is not what he wants, not what he needs anyway. 

You smile, as bright as the day, as the stars that he once deemed fake. But if you claim yourself a star, he’d probably believe you—hope. Hope for a much better future no matter how far or how long he wanders. 

And so he reaches out his hand to you, unable to stop himself from looking away once again. 

“I don’t have a name,” he begins, “do you perhaps… have a name for me so I can properly introduce myself to you?” 

Promises are meant to be broken—such a phrase had never been truer.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated♡

taglist on reblogs!

[lathalea]

The White Raven 6/9

Yes, it's happening, I'm back with a fresh new chapter of this fic, and I'm so nervous! It took me a while to get here but I hope you'll like the next part of Thorin and Carra's story.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being an amazing and insightful beta reader and helping me out with Very Important Things Like Commas and Temporal Issues In Middle Earth😍🤣 Extra special thanks to @legolasbadass (yes, again, OMG, you're so popular! 🤣) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and very deep discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚 Thank you everyone who showed their support for this story, you motivated me to continue writing 💙 You are the best readers in the world 🤩🤩🤩

Khuzdul: Lulkh - fool Yasthûnê - my wife ’ugbalul ’uhaskhajam - [the] greatest sacrifice Adad - father Tharkûn - Gandalf

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ...

Thorin did not know how much time had passed. A few heartbeats? An hour? An eternity? Vaguely familiar shapes circled the darkening sky above him. Ravens? Eagles? He did not know that either. Thinking did not come easily any longer. His thoughts were muddled. His wound pulsed in pain with the rapidity of trickling blood. And he could not move. His foe’s blade had  pierced his body. Some unknown solid weight pressed him to the cold, unforgiving surface. It was difficult to breathe. His nostrils filled with the stench of Orc blood. The icy chill spread through his limbs. 

He opened his mouth, but only a whisper came out before Thorin lost the internal battle with his own body.

“Carra…”

Silence. Bird-shaped clouds in the sky. Snowflakes on his cheeks. Or perhaps tears. He could not keep his eyes open any longer. His mind slowly drifted off into the darkness.

***

“Uncle! Uncle Thorin!” A faraway voice invaded Thorin’s mind, stirring it awake. This voice sounded familiar. But he was tired. Too tired. The darkness beckoned, offering the comfort of oblivion. He needed to rest. Sleep.

“Look! Kili! He is here!” another voice replied, slightly deeper than the previous one. “Under that Orc carcass?” the first voice asked.

“There is so much blood… Isn’t that Azog?”

“Aye! Or what’s left of ‘im,” a third voice joined in. Older. Raspier. 

“Look at his back!” 

“Either that’s Orcrist’s tip or I’m the Goblin Queen! That son of a goat did it! Quickly now, lads, help me take that beast off Thorin. Fili, on my mark, pull!”

There was movement. More voices. Piercing pain. A dull grunt filled Thorin’s ears. Was it his own voice?

“He’s alive!”

“Thank Mahal! Uncle Thorin, can you hear me?”

“He’s unconscious, you lulkh!” “We need to get rid of that filthy Orc blade first. It’s stuck in ice.”

“Slowly now!” A sea of pain washed over Thorin, his whole body stiffening with each wave. But the darkness patiently waited for him and took him in its merciful arms once more.

***

“He’s still breathing!”

“Thorin, wake up! Wake up, ye lazy bastard!” someone growled straight into his ear. “Damn it!”

“Dwalin, look, we stopped the bleeding.”

Those voices again. Pulling Thorin back into consciousness. Into the pain and emptiness.

“Let’s finish dressing his wound and then we’ll take ‘im to Oín,” the growling one said. 

“What’s that, Fili?” the young, familiar voice said. “Where?” “Over there, by that pointy rock on the other side of the river.” 

“Looks like a dead Warg to me,” the one very close to him rasped out. A pair of hands kept on doing something to his chest. It hurt. He wanted it to stop. 

“Too small for a Warg, Dwalin. It’s… by Mahal’s beard!”

“Where are you going, Fili? Wait for me!” The first voice sounded irritated.

A sound of hurried footsteps. Iron-heeled boots against ice. 

“Those two can’t sit in one place in peace if their life depended on…” the raspily-sounding one grunted. “I tell ya, Thorin, when ye’re better, we’ll send them on guard duty. First morning shift for a month. That’ll teach ‘em!”

Somehow, it made Thorin want to smile. But now, even smiling hurt.

“It’s a raven! So big! Look at its wings! Why are you staring, Fili?” the youthful voice reached his ears again.

“I think it’s… the White Raven.”

“What?! It’s just a fairy tale!” “I’ve seen this raven before, Kili,” confidence rang in the second voice. “I think it followed us on the way to Erebor. It helped me fight off a Warg-rider in the Misties just before the eagles came.”

Thorin took a reluctant breath. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. 

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good. There is so much blood… Is it dead, Fili?” “Let me see… That’s a nasty wound.”

Thorin’s muscles tensed. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to speak. But his body didn't want to obey.

And then he heard two gasps at the same time.

“What’s happening?”

“Do you see it too, Fili?”

“It’s… it’s magic!”

“No, it’s a shapeshifter!”

“Look! Look!”

“A woman?!”

Both voices intermingled in Thorin’s exhausted mind, making less and less sense. He needed to act. He needed to… He breathed in. The air smelled like snowdrops.

“Thorin! Ye’re back! And here I was thinkin’…” A tattooed forehead and a bushy moustache appeared before his eyes. “Stop squeezing my hand so hard!”

“Carra…” Thorin managed to rasp out. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“What are ye sayin’?” Dwalin demanded.

“Help…. her…” He tried again. “She is…” “What? I can barely hear ye.”

 The last wisps of strength were leaving him. He could feel the darkness beckoning to him once again. “Yasthûnê…” Thorin articulated slowly. “My… wife.”

***

Warm rays of sun gently caress Carra’s cheek, and she enjoys the sensation for a short while before opening her eyes. It takes her a moment to adjust to the bright light. She lays on soft ground, the strands of her silver-white hair interlacing with the lush green blades of grass. A multitude of colourful flowers adorns the meadow around her, their sweet fragrance wafting through the air, intertwining with the lazy buzz of bees. She rolls onto her back and stares at the perfectly clear blue sky above. Then she takes a deep breath. A distant echo of pain rings out in her mind, but there are no bruises or wounds on her body. 

When a puffy white cloud drifts into her blurred field of vision, Carra wipes off the wetness from her cheeks, stands up, and looks around. The endless meadow seems to stretch for miles in every direction. A soft breeze kisses her face, bringing the faint sound of water lapping against a distant shore. She follows it, and soon, a sparse grove of trees appears in front of her. Beyond it, she sees a stream, its silvery current sparkling in the sun. For a brief moment, an orange butterfly dances just above her nose and then flies off towards the meadow behind her. Carra’s eyes follow its flight when a curious harmony of sounds draws her attention back to the stream.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

It seems to be coming from across the stream, and Carra decides to find its source.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

As she walks through the grove, she encounters a young doe nibbling on a nearby shrub. It glances at her curiously and then trots away, as if deciding that Carra’s presence is disturbing its meal. 

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

Carra walks on, her bare feet sinking into the silky soft moss, step after step, until she finds herself at the edge of the grove. The stream is only several steps ahead. Its murmuring waters bring a hum of voices.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Ta-tap. Ta-tap. Tap.

An irritated sigh.

“Another broken thread?” A warm, feminine voice asks. It makes Carra think of spring in full bloom.

“Too many of them. It seems like another busy day for my husband.” Another woman speaks, her voice as melodious as the nearby stream.

“And you? You have been weaving since dawn,” the first one says.

“This pattern grows ever more complicated. It changes much too often for my taste these days.” The other woman sighs again. “Tell me that at least your work bears fruit.” “Some of these seeds refuse to sprout. The taint is spreading. I feel it in the earth.”

“The Fallen One is regaining his strength,” a third voice joins in. Deep and resonant. “I see his traces beyond the veil.”

Carra takes a careful step forward and focuses all of her attention at the opposite side of the stream. There, a garden of breathtaking beauty blooms before her eyes. Within it, she notices three silhouettes, the owners of the voices she hears. At first, their appearance seems similar to Elves, but soon after, Carra quickly understands her error. They are taller, their posture and movements are even more graceful, and there seems to be an otherworldly glow about them. Whenever she tries to look up into their faces, Carra has to squint—not only because of their radiance but also because their features seem to be ever-changing, fluid, like water in a mountain stream. Each of these noble figures is clad in finely ornamented robes that sway slightly when the same gentle breeze that brought her here plays with their hems.  

One of the ladies kneels on the ground, ignoring the dirt stains on her garments. Their fabric is as green as her eyes. Her right hand rests over the brown, freshly turned soil and wisps of chestnut hair fall over her eyes. The other lady, her hair wavy and black as night, sits by a strangely-looking wooden frame with numerous threads attached to this elaborate contraption. Their colours form an intricate, multi-level pattern that seems to grow—bloom—in all directions in Carra’s eyes. She immediately feels dizzy and has to look away. Then her attention focuses on the third figure that  joined the others a mere moment ago. A strapping man, his aspect equally stunning as those of his two companions, strolls towards them, his movements measured and dignified. As far as she can discern, he is clean-shaven, unlike Dwarves, and his long, white hair flows freely down his shoulders. In his hands, there is a silver jug, its surface glistening in the sun.

“Even though you bring morbid news, you are a welcome sight, brother-in-law!” the black-haired lady says, clasping her hands and moving away from her loom. “May I offer you some refreshment?” He bows reverently to his companions, and before they respond, he fills three silver cups with the contents of the jug.

Carra licks her parched lips.

“The sweet water from your fount!” The Green Lady stands up graciously and takes one of the cups. 

“I know how fond you are of its taste.” The man’s hair dances in the wind as he speaks. An orange butterfly flutters among his flowing strands. “You come bearing gifts but it is not why you are here.” The Weaver looks into his eyes.

“I have simply come to admire your weaving skills,” he offers.

“Dear Dreamer, you are curious about my winged children, are you not?” The Green Lady gives him a nod.

“It is only natural,” he refills her cup. “Some of them bear our blessing, do they not?” “Indeed they do.” The Weaver approaches him with her cup and states, “How interesting that you chose today of all days.”

“My visions are blurred. Inconclusive.” He stills, gazing up into the sky, and then turning his attention back to the two women. “Tell me, have our gifts to them remained a blessing or have they rather turned into a curse?”

The Weaver sits back at her loom and looks closely at the glistening fabric; her fingers run along some part of the pattern hidden from Carra’s sight. “Your children have been fulfilling their duties well. Although the youngest one tends to make my work a tad more challenging.”

“The youngest one?” the man frowns.

“The one with  wings dusted with silver.” The Green Lady takes a sip from her cup, her features schooled in a neutral expression.

“Silver? That certainly explains quite a bit. Your husband and his experiments…” The Weaver shakes her head. “Why now? Why this one?”

“I truly cannot say.”The Green Lady gives her an enigmatic smile and takes another sip. “But perhaps you would rather see her for yourselves.”

“Perhaps we would.” The Weaver’s fingers hover above the countless threads of her loom while the man nods. The butterfly lands on his shoulder, folding its orange wings.

“Very well. She has been listening to us long enough,” the Green Lady says, taking a look at the dark patch of planting ground under her feet. “Come, child.”

It takes Carra a blink of an eye to realise that she is not standing in the grove any longer. She gasps and blinks twice, but her eyes do not deceive her. Now she faces three luminous beings—in their garden across the stream.

“Great Mother!” she whispers and falls on her knees in front of the lady clad in green, bowing her head. In the presence of these great figures, blinded by their magnificent splendour, she feels like a feeble, featherless fledgling that fell out from its nest.

“Rise, Carra,” the Green Lady addresses her softly, and Cara does what she is told. “Do you know why you are here, my child?”

“I…” she croaks faintly, unable to stop staring into Great Mother’s incandescent face. A kaleidoscope of images fills her mind. The freezing ice. Thorin’s face when he notices her and his widened blue eyes. The Pale Orc, his teeth bare, with his blade pointed at her mate. Her bloodied talons clawing at Azog’s face. And then—darkness.

“I have died.” She hears her own voice. 

In a blink of an eye, the images are gone, dispelled like a wisp of smoke on the wind. Only the orange butterfly swirls around her head.

“Do you know, child,” there is a frown on the Weaver's face when she turns to Carra from above her loom, “how thin these threads are? How delicate? Even the slightest whiff of wind can change the pattern—or destroy it as if it was a spider’s net.”

“I have only tried to protect the pattern,” Carra swallows, feeling three pairs of eyes on her.

“You have saved some vital parts of it, that is true, but I hear that you also left us with tangles in the weave,” now her life-giver speaks, her eyes glistening like emerald waters of a fathomless lake.

“Forgive me, Great Mother. The line of Durin had to stay unbroken. I did my best. But I have failed,” Carra hears her own trembling voice. “Darkness clouded my dreams…”

“And so you staked out your own path, Silver One,” the Weaver speaks as if to herself, patting her index finger against her lips in reverie. “Which left us with all those new thread combinations.”

Then she exchanges a glance with her companions, and the man called Dreamer speaks.

“See for yourself,” his eyes, grey like a wolf’s fur, rest on Carra. First, he raises his eyebrow but then motions her towards a small rock basin. She can swear that this object has not been there a moment ago. He takes the silver jug and fills the basin with a narrow, glistening stream of water. The orange butterfly dances above it and then rises above their heads. The water’s surface resembles a mirror, and Carra’s eyes are drawn to the movement she seems to see in its depths.

Countless veins of silver run through coarse stone walls of a cave, glittering like gossamer strands that cover foliage at dawn, but instead of dewdrops, tears flow down from a Dwarf-woman’s cheeks, following the crevices of her wrinkled face. She wears a crown of snow-white braided hair and a dark blue robe with golden ornaments. In her weatherworn hand, she holds a piece of parchment with a green, rectangular seal at the bottom. Beside her sits a slightly hunched elderly Dwarf with bushy, grey whiskers and rows of faded tattoos on his bald head.

“Now we are the last ones, Dwalin,” the Dwarf lady sobs. “My boys… My brothers… And then Balin… Dain and his son… Gone.”

“Aye,” the old warrior gently closes his hand over hers. “But they will not be forgotten.”

“Gone…” Carra’s lips tremble as she stops herself at the last moment from touching the water. As she moves her hand back, a curtain of ripples falls over the image, changing the scenery.

The image of the familiar green and black shape of the Great Gate of Erebor fills the rock basin. An army of Dwarves rides to battle on their war rams, led by the King Under the Mountain. Carra recognizes his blade at once. Orcrist. It is Thorin! She gasps. The Raven Crown graces his temples frosted with grey. And his beard has the same colouring as her feathers. Silver-white. As the events unfold, she recognizes them from her past dreams. The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills join forces with the Men of Dale. The battle is long and bloody, but the allied forces ultimately crush their enemies. At that moment, the vision changes. She does not recognize this new detail. An armour-clad warrior rides from Dale on a white war ram. As soon as Thorin sees him, he dismounts, and soon both men greet each other with a strong embrace.

“The city is safe, adad!” The young warrior grins, taking off his helmet. The wind plays with his entangled hair, which seems to glow in the setting sun.

“You did well, Thráin,” Thorin replies, his gaze softening. He presses his forehead against Thráin’s and whispers, “You made me proud, son.”

A faint whiff of wind kisses the water’s surface, transforming it into a flurry of silvery ripples.

By a gilded cradle sits a young Dwarf-woman. Her chestnut hair glints as if enchanted with fire, contrasting with the snow-white laces of her sleeping gown. The mithril beads in her braids clink when she takes her babe into her arms, and a smile brightens her heart-shaped face.

“You will be a king one day,” she whispers lovingly, kissing her little one on his forehead. Quietly humming a sweet lullaby, she adjusts the blanket her son is wrapped in. Carra notices that its hem is embroidered with little black and golden ravens.

A sudden wrinkle on the water disturbs its surface, making the water glitter like diamonds.

A cold, pale sheen illuminates the green marble walls when the King Under the Mountain ensconces on his throne. The source of this light comes from a jewel of unmatched beauty set over the king's head. The golden and obsidian crown rests on his raven-black hair. But the ruler of Erebor, Thorin II Oakenshield, is not smiling. A deep, menacing frown darkens his face. In his hand, he holds a wide dwarvish sword. Blood drips from its tip onto the cracked marble floor. There is no red-haired Dwarf queen beside him. There are no children playing at his feet. There is only deathly silence. And the shadow he casts is that of a dragon.

When the visions finally fade, Carra finds herself staring into the bottomless depths of a pair of grey eyes. She does not notice when the orange butterfly lands on the edge of the empty jug.  

***

“Carra…” her name sounded like a helpless croak. Thorin’s throat was parched.

It took him a while to regain all of his senses and open his eyes. He lay on a large cot in a spacious tent that looked suspiciously like a work of Elvish hands. He grunted. Every single part of his body seemed to hurt. Bandages covered most of his torso, and he could not move his arm without inducing even more pain. 

A louder groan left his lips when he tried to sit up and failed. Something in the nearest corner of the tent moved.

“Your Majesty…” A young Dwarf in a healer’s tunic appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “You are awake!”

“Where…” Thorin coughed. Even breathing drained his strength.

“All is well, my lord. Try not to speak, please. The enemy is defeated. Erebor is once again ours.”

“Is… my…” His attempt at speaking failed once more.

“Your kin and companions are alive and well, Your Majesty.” A mug was pressed against his lips, and Thorin greedily drank its contents. He welcomed the sweet taste of water on his tongue. It probably came from the spring at Ravenhill.

Ravenhill.

His heart sank.

“Carra…? Where…?” he whispered. Every word felt like a struggle.

“Forgive me, my lord, who?” the healer frowned.

Thorin did not respond. He was already asleep.

***

“The White Raven?” Dain Ironfoot’s brow furrowed as he clutched a tankard in his hand. “Here, in Erebor? Are ye drunk, Fili?”

“It’d take more than a mug of ale to make me drunk, Uncle!” the young dwarf protested. “I swear on Mahal’s beard. She fought the Pale Orc together with Uncle Thorin and…”

“She?” said Agnarr, one of Dain’s captains who sat on his left, raising his eyebrows, which resembled a thick, black caterpillar.

“Aye! I found her myself! And then Tharkûn said… well, he didn’t want to say anything about her at first, but I convinced him to tell me…” Kili started with a mischievous smirk, only to be interrupted by his brother.

“He followed the wizard day and night and bombarded him with questions, until Tharkûn had enough,” Fili whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards Dain.

“Well, I convinced him, didn’t I?” Kili huffed. “The wizard said that if not for her, Thorin’s fate would have been very different! You saw that wound of his.” “Aye, if that orc blade went in a bit lower, he’d be resting in the catacombs together with the kings of old,” Ironfoot muttered under his breath.

“Exactly. Besides, before he left, Tharkûn mentioned something about treasure, too!”

“A treasure?” Dain Ironfoot asked.

Kili shrugged in response, “I don’t think he meant the gold in our mountain…”

“Wizards and their riddles…” Dori sighed, pouring himself another mug of ale.

“So ye’re telling me,” Dain demanded, “that a creature straight from our legends appeared out of thin air and fought the Pale Orc with Thorin? And that the White Raven is a woman?”

“And a pretty one, too!” Bofur winked. “That hair of hers…! White as snow!”

“More like silver-white to me,” Fili puffed out a cloud of pipeweed smoke.

“Was she not supposed to be a great bird? Like the legends say?” Dain grunted.

“She is!” Kili nodded eagerly. “I mean, she was a bird, but then she turned into a woman, I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Now she looks more like a Dwarf,” Fili added.

“A raven looking like a Dwarf?” Vari, son of Nari, another of Dain’s soldiers, scratched his bald head.

“And a bit like an Elf, too,” Kili grinned and waved his hand in the air. “She has pointy ears, you know. Ouch, Fili, why did you kick me?”

Dain groaned, “Pointy ears…? By Mahal’s beard, I think I need another mug of ale.”

“Are ye drinkin’ without us, ye sewer rats?” Dwalin appeared by the table, followed by his brother.

“We’re all celebratin’ our victory over the orcs and wargs!” Captain Agnarr pointed at the multiple groups of Dwarves gathered around them in one of the least ruined halls of the Lonely Mountain.

“There’s nothing better for a soldier’s morale than a few casks of the Iron Hills ale,” Balin sat beside him and poured two mugs—for himself and Dwalin. “What would you say about a toast?”

“To victory?” Ori proposed.

“We drank for that last time,” Vari shook his head. 

“If all you said is true, lads,” Drengi, a large dwarf, said, two golden teeth glinting in his mouth, “we should be toasting the White Raven.”

“To the White Raven!” strong voices echoed against the ceiling of the cavern as more dwarves joined the toast with their mugs raised into the air.

“To Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain!”

“To King Thorin!”

“To the Lonely Mountain!”

“To the Longbeards!”

In the growing racket, Balin turned to Fili and Kili.

“What did you tell them, lads?”

“Nothing much besides what we saw when we found Uncle Thorin after the battle,” Fili said.

“And that the White Raven helped us during the Quest,” added Kili. “Fili, I completely forgot! Remember what Uncle Thorin called her when we were taking him back to the Lonely Mountain?”

Fili nodded, but before he answered, Balin put his hand on Kili’s shoulder.

“That, my boy, is better left unsaid.”

“But Uncle Dain said that the King Under the Mountain will need a queen now and that he has a perfect candidate for Uncle Thorin. How can Uncle Thorin marry her if he…” Kili continued.

“This is the conversation that Thorin—and Thorin only—needs to have with Dain. Do you understand?” the elderly dwarf searched their faces solemnly.

“Aye, Uncle Balin, we do,” Fili reassured him.

***

“...since we moved his majesty into the Mountain. His fever has dropped and the wounds are healing well but he keeps on asking about someone named Carra.”

“Thank you, Nari, you were most helpful. Try to catch some sleep. I will stay with him now.” Words spoken in a soothing timbre of voice reached Thorin through the haze of dreams.

“Balin?” he blinked a few times, trying to chase the drowsiness away.

“I’m here, laddie,” a familiar silhouette in a burgundy robe stood before him. “You gave us a scare for a wee moment there.”

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling at the sight of the familiar face of his old mentor. As he attempted to sit up, an intense spike of pain ran through the left side of his body. The only thing he managed to do was lift his head slightly. At that moment, an additional pillow was placed beneath it. He grunted. At least the Dwarvish beds were much more comfortable than the Elvish ones.

“Carefully now, laddie. No sudden movements. Your foot needs time to heal properly. Your left shoulder and arm were badly injured too. The healers had to use a splint…” 

It was a challenge to focus on Balin’s words, but as the dizziness subsided, Thorin’s thoughts became more coherent. Various parts of his body ached, his left leg felt heavy, and he could not move his left arm—it was indeed encased in a splint, exactly like Balin said—but he was able to take a look around the room. Even if he did not recognize this particular place, he recognized its walls hewn from the same greenish rock as the walls of the old chambers he used to live in as a young prince. A lifetime ago. And now, he was home again. Home.

“Tell me everything. Is Erebor safe?” With a pained grunt, he turned towards Balin. 

“Aye. Worry not, the Mountain is well-protected. Dain is here with his warriors. We are working on making our home liveable again,” Balin replied, patting Thorin’s right hand, which lay on the bed. “You did well, laddie. The corridors and caverns are echoing with stories about the return of the King Under the Mountain who killed the Pale Orc and avenged his esteemed grandsire.”

Killed. He swallowed, attempting to ignore the memories of that fight that came back to him like an unstoppable flood—and of the price he paid to survive. Or rather, the price someone else paid for him. He lost her.

“King? Me? A Dwarf who succumbed to the curse that plagues his house? Who valued hoarded gold over…” With a sneer, Thorin looked away, his voice hollow. “I am not worthy of that title, Balin. Not any longer.”

“Do you remember that audience in the throne room when King Thrór met with the refugees from the White Mountains? You were still a prince at that time.”

“How could I forget? Not only did I break protocol, but also I interrupted Grandfather. I declared that if he would not send his troops, I would fight the Orcs who invaded their homes—on my own. Mother was truly ashamed of me on that day. And Father would not speak to me for a month.” “Ah, the impulsiveness of youth,” Balin nodded. “But you have always had your heart in the right place. Do you remember what I told you on that very day?”

“Life is like a battle. When you fall, you have to rise again and fight. Otherwise you lose,” Thorin said under his breath. He recalled the countless nights when he whispered those words to himself, lying on the hard ground, far from home, when the thought of retribution was the only thing that drove him forward.

 “We reclaimed our homeland thanks to you. You overcame the curse and led us to victory. You have fought and won this great battle, Thorin,” the elderly Dwarf spoke softly.

“I did not. Not alone,” Thorin admitted, unable to look Balin in the eye, his throat constricted. Something ached in his chest, and it was not his wound. “I had help.”

“Indeed. I saw the Pale Orc’s corpse. It bore marks of dwarven weapons… and others that bore resemblance to talons and a beak,” the older Dwarf said.

Thorin did not reply. Not because he chose not to speak but because the right words would not come to him.

After a pause, his mentor added, “Fili claims that he heard a deafening sound, like a large bird’s screech, only moments before they caught sight of you on the frozen river.”

“A screech…” Thorin repeated to himself. Something stirred in his mind; Azog’s hideous grimace, the ice beneath him reverberating with a strange sound that filled the air, and the moment when the tip of Orcrist’s blade plunged into the Orc’s chest. He blinked several times. His own words rang in his ears.

“Carra, no!”

He remembered the darkness that came afterwards. And pain.

 A life for a life.

It should have been him.

Balin’s voice seemed to come from far away.

“... I heard the guards retelling the old legends of the White Raven. And a new tale is spreading through Erebor: a story about a large, white-feathered raven that bravely fought by the King Under the Mountain’s side at Ravenhill,” he said.

Thorin remained silent, staring at the white sheets that covered him. White as ice on that day. White as the feathers in her wings. He felt cold.

Silence seemed to stretch between them like the bottomless chasm beneath the Mountain until Balin spoke again. 

“Help me understand this, laddie.” 

Reluctantly, Thorin’s fingers found the leather band strung around his neck and pulled it from under the blankets that covered him. His old friend’s eyes widened at the sight of a silver-white feather.

“The White Raven…” The words in Thorin’s mouth tasted like ash. “Carra. I have known her for most of my life. After Smaug's attack, she left her nest behind and followed me to the Blue Mountains.” Thorin met his mentor’s eyes. 

“The White Raven... The stuff of legend, eh?” Balin hummed, examining the feather with reverence.

“I am aware of what it must sound like. Legend or not, she is real. She was,” he corrected himself, swallowing hard. “At Ravenhill… Had she not intervened, Azog would have taken my life. She chose ’ugbalul ’uhaskhajam and gave her life for me instead.”

“Thorin… By Mahal’s hammer, laddie, what are you saying?” The feather fell from his mentor’s hand onto the bed. “’Ugbalul ’uhaskhajam, the act of sacrificing one’s life in battle to protect another, is only performed by one’s kin!”

“Or a spouse,” explained Thorin flatly.

Balin looked down at the silver-white feather and then glanced towards the door before speaking again.

“Dwalin told me that you spoke of a wife,” the elderly Dwarf said. “We thought it might have been your feverish mind speaking, nothing more.”

“It was not. She is… Carra was my wife, Balin.” His own whisper sounded hollow.

Balin stayed silent for a few heartbeats and then cleared his throat, as if deciding on something.

“That certainly explains quite a bit—including a very curious occurrence. You see, Thorin, after the battle, we did not find any signs of this revered bird at Ravenhill. Instead, there is a strange woman of mysterious provenance in our infirmary, and the healers…”

“Here, in Erebor?! Alive?” Thorin grabbed Balin’s sleeve, seeing him nod. “Tell me, what colour is this woman’s hair?!”

“Her hair is like this feather: white, dusted with silver,” his mentor replied. “She lives and is under good care. We brought her into the Mountain together with you, but...”

“Thank Mahal!” Thorin rested on his right arm, lifting his upper body as much as he could. “Balin, take me to her at once!”

Swiftly, he moved to the side in an attempt to rise from the bed while a pang of pain shot through his body, sudden like lightning. He fell onto his pillows, taking deep breaths and fighting a wave of dizziness.

“I am afraid you are in no shape to walk, laddie,” Balin rested his hand on his uninjured shoulder. “You are on the mend, but the healers say that you will need time to…”

“Balin! By Mahal’s beard!” Thorin fisted his hand, trying to curb his temper and ignore the pain. “Do you not understand? I need to see her!”

“You are as stubborn as your grandfather,” the elderly Dwarf shook his head in defeat. “Let me talk with Nari and see what can be done. I will be back in a jiffy.”

Balin’s jiffy felt like an eternity to Thorin, but he waited, albeit impatiently.

Carra was alive.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

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[skye707]

I barely talk on Tumblr and almost never send asks so I'm mildly terrified rn but I love your blog too much not to-- I dont know if this has been asked before but do the lads play D&D? :0 I feel like a group game of D&D with the riddlers would be pure chaos.

oh my gosh dude do not be scared of me. I’m literally just a little gal. But I’m so glad you like the blog that much and sent this ask in!

Okay, so, I think they’d be really into DnD, but there are definitely some troublemakers among them. And what I really wanted to get to:

Their Classes

Unburied - he’s a Bard. Fight me. This guy is going to inspire the group with his quick wit, songs, and lovable personality

ZY - Fighter, his character is just him but again. Like literally the only exception is that he gave himself a huge sword.

Dano - Paladin on a noble quest to restore the balance of justice

YJ - Actually, I think he'd make a perfect GM. He's got the attention to detail, dedication to worldbuilding, and the desire to make the game fun for everyone. But if he's playing, he plays a sorcerer. He likes magic.

Gotham -Druid, this dude is one with nature and all the world’s woodland creatures

BTAA - y’all already know, he’s a rogue! Artists of crime! Sleight of hand! Being smarter than the common masses

Arkham - C'mon dude. Do I even need to tell you he's an artificer? Constantly building shit that shouldn't exist.

BTAS - He guesses he’ll just be a wizard? He at least knows what that is?? Honestly he just wanted to be a part of the game, but now he’s invested in his level upgrades.

Telltale - the dad in the other room wondering what the hell is wrong with his kids

[honourablejester]

I’m reading the Pathfinder ‘Lost Omens: The Mwangi Expanse’ setting book (guess whose copy arrived recently!), and I’m on the section on the Mbe’ke dwarves of the Terwa Uplands, and I just. I want to mention the origin story the Mbe’kes tell about themselves:

“This is the story that Mbe’kes tell.

Long ago, dwarves marched upwards on a Quest for the Sky. They saw many wondrous things on that march; temples and treasures, magics and mysteries. One group of dwarves, who would later become Mbe’kes, finally emerged in a sheltered valley.

They looked about the rocky sides of the valley, and they looked at the great blue thing above, and mistook it for just one more cavern, if perhaps larger than most. Sages stroked their beards and engineers hefted their tools, and the dwarves set about breaching the vault of the sky. They climbed the tallest mountain in the land, braced the sky properly, and started digging. Dwarves, of course, can dig through anything, and so quite soon they broke through the sky into the Plane of Air.

The People of the Air were greatly surprised by these strangers. First a great hurricane-spirit tried to chase the dwarves away, but the dwarves had fought worse beneath the earth and were not cowed. Then a great djinni of the west wind offered the dwarves fine treasures to leave, but nothing matched the wonders the dwarves made themselves. Finally, a curious cloud dragon asked what in the seven stars above and the three stars below the dwarves were doing.

Once they understood their mistake, the dwarves descended back to Golarion and looked about the valley from which they’d emerged. They could most certainly make a home there, and did, and ever since Mbe’kes have been good friends with cloud dragons.”

Now. A couple of things. First, the actual historical and archaeological record tells a different story, suggesting that the proto-Mbe’ke initially fought for territory with the cloud dragons in the Terwa Uplands (evidence includes a suspicious number of old Mbe’ke relics made of dragon bone), but eventually the two groups made peace and became the firm allies they are today later down the line. Second, the Mbe’ke have a proud tradition of ‘tangle-tales’, an expression of their humour, which involve telling the most ridiculous, nonsensical, over the top stories possible with the straightest face possible, and responding to them just as seriously to encourage elaboration, until someone finally breaks and laughs. So. Tall tales are a prized tradition for Mbe’ke. And third, there’s this later note:

“If one were to ask a Mbe’ke, they would say that their people are famed for three things: first, they are the most stubborn of all dwarves; second, they are the most argumentative of all dwarves; and third, they have absolutely no sense of humour. This last will be said with a perfectly straight face.”

Their humour and culture is a combination of dwarven stubbornness and pragmatism, and cloud dragon whimsy and curiosity. And in that context …

I just really love that origin story? As a thing they tell about themselves. Because you can see …

The things they pride themselves on are being stubborn, argumentative, and secretly humorous. And it shows. Their origin has them climb out of the earth, look up, fail to realise that the sky is not just another ceiling, and then impossibly dig through that as well anyway. Stubborn, yes. Heh. And then, in the Plane of Air, they cannot be driven away by force, because come and have a go, and they can’t be driven away by bribery, because we’re dwarves, you can’t offer us anything we couldn’t make ourselves, but they can be politely knocked back by someone gently arguing with them until they realise their own idiocy. In this story, the cloud dragons were just ‘lads, what are you at?’, and the Mbe’ke looked around, realised their cosmological error, and just went ‘oops, our bad mate, thanks for the head’s up’, packed up their kit, and went back down a layer.

I love so much that this is a story they tell about themselves. That it shows what their pride is held in. In stubbornness, in doing the impossible, in refusing to be driven back by any insurmountable obstacle or show of force or attempt to undermine their integrity, but also in recognising their own foolishness, in acknowledging their own errors, in having fair dealings with people who deal fairly with them, and in poking some gentle fun at every previous thing on this list. Yes, it’s showing them in their best light, according to their own values, and the reality is often different, but it does illustrate quite well what those values are, and it’s fascinating.

And I also love some of the little details. They climbed the tallest mountain in the land and braced the sky properly. Like, if you’re going to do this ridiculous thing, you’re damn well going to do it right. Is it plausible or even possible? Irrelevant. Do it right regardless. I love that they saw another vast ceiling, another impossible barrier, and the ‘sages stroked their beards, and the engineers hefted their tools, and the dwarves set about breaching the vault of the sky’. Like, right, on we go! Another job, let’s get it done. They’re so … dwarvish. And god I love dwarves. You cannot stop a dwarf from digging. I love them.

Ahem. Anyway. I like the Mbe’ke a lot? Also dwarves. Just. In general. Heh. Carry on!

[silentmagi]

Rising Star

Hello everyone, I hope that everyone’s enjoying the story and that you’ve all been well since last time. I thank all of you who take the time to read and vote for these updates. I would love to hear any feedback or reviews you may have.

Last time, we were voting on what the next steps were. The winners were Translate and the getting new books from the stables, and I’m going to try and combine these. Let’s see where the story takes us.

An effort was made to translate the tome, the words in a nigh forgotten language and she could translate it, but for the fact that she didn’t have her own linguistic notes, or a book to help her understand the rules of grammar and syntax, she was having trouble parsing the right inflections and meanings of the words she was trying to translate.

Looking at the window, she found that it had been two hours since she started, and she had only gotten roughly half the page partially figured out. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she picked up the page again, found her notes, and promptly found that she had made three mistakes within the first few notes.

Determining that the translations were a lost cause, she packed up her books, leaving the one for private reading on the bed for later. Surely, Luna was a lady of culture and wouldn’t judge her for such reading materials.

On second thought, hiding it inside her bag for later would be best.

With her reading materials secured, she returned to the quest for more knowledge. Navigating the stairs, she found the back entrance to the stables unguarded, and the two lads that had helped her earlier absconded, perhaps to a scheduled break or other tasks around the inn. No matter, taking the key from her pouch, she opened the stall. Snooping around, she made sure that the book to be translated when they got to the library was separate from the others, with the spell creation notes next to it. Pulling out a few books, she flipped through the first pages, finding more written in the translated text, so they were added with the black book.

Finally, she unearthed the scrolls, and grabbed several of them, looping a length of cord around them so she could more easily hold onto them. Her stomach was reminding her of the hours since she ate, and she turned to head back in, ensuring the tarp was in place and the stall was locked behind her.

Pausing long enough to give Edmond a handful of oats and a scratch between the ears, she smiled at the placid horse. “Rest well, it’s a long road before the next time you get a proper stall like this,” she offered, trying to bolster her own spirits by spoiling him.

Getting a wuffling noise and him turning towards the water trough, she decided to take her own advice and enjoy the civilization that was being afforded her right now. 

Getting inside, the innkeeper approached her, giving her a broad smile as he came near. “Hello lass, settled in alright? Will you be wanting to eat down here or should I have one of the lads bring up a serving of the special?”

“If you could have it brought up, that’d be great, thank you,” she answered before looking at Luna out the front door thoughtfully. “Perhaps have her plate stay warm until she comes in. I don’t know if she’ll be up to playing for the inn tonight after her show in the town square.”

“Can do, the mayor’s covering that, and will you be wanting a dri-” he began, cutting off as she placed a coins in his hand.

“Wine, something red if you have it, if there’s any change, keep it, if it’s not enough, let me know. I’ll take the bottle.”

“Certainly, if you’re sure, we have a nice local one that’s a few years old. Great flavor, and a decent nose, afraid I can’t tell you more than that.”

“That sounds delightful, please send them up, I will be working in the room, so just knock and I’ll respond.”

With that the pair parted ways, and she found herself back in the room, settling in to work on the scrolls. It felt good to have things going her way, making progress, and being able to study and research again.

[ninapi]

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・●

*＊✿❀ Bewitched ❀✿＊*

Premise: Prince Keisuke was known to be a troublesome lad, often bringing problems to the queen herself. In an attempt to tame the wild prince, the queen calls for a powerful witch to aid him with his cause, hoping to put an end to this quest sooner. What she didn't count on was love being what he needed most.

Word Count: 3442

Note: Previous Chapter here

Chapter 2: Magical Kitty Rendezvous

How do you assimilate the fact that someone you considered your own brother wanted to kill you?

Kazutora had a very troubled mind and fear can operate in many ways. The fear of loss, the fear of rejection, can really mess someone up.

But even if he did indeed try to kill him, the memories of all the good times they had together wouldn’t go anywhere. 

Did he change?

Was it their fault?

It was certainly concerning to a new level.

But the worse outcome of this incident, at least for Baji Keisuke was the fact that he made his mother cry.

Nothing really happened to him, he was in perfect conditions, not even a scratch on his nose. Not the same can be said of those who crossed his path that morning though. But even then, his mother wailed for hours on the fact that she almost lost her son due to this stupid quest of his.

Friendships are important, of course. But not more than your own life. And his life wasn’t just a life, he was the future king, not someone that can be easily replaced.

The fact that he had to hear you apologize to the queen and even get a slap to your beautiful face from her was also a low blow for the prince.

You had done nothing wrong, you even saved his life and helped capture his friend alive. But you did leave his side and that could end up in a fatality according to his mother.

“I’m not a child that needs babysitting mother. I understand your concern, I know you can’t just find another king for this damn kingdom. But this girl saved my life, if you ever touch her again you can forget you ever had a son…” and with this, he left the throne room and hid in his chambers.

This didn’t go according to plan. It went awful even.

Hanma Shuji managed to escape and that dark wizard seemingly very powerful would not take long to find another army of zombies to attack them, even if all his loyal men are now in his dungeons being detoxed from all the harmful spells they went through.

He had to do something, needed more information about this dark magic wielder, Kazutora would for sure know more, but he refuses to talk and it’s all just so frustrating to the young prince.

They managed to knock down Valhalla at least, there was a good side to this battle of sorts, but the downs were greater in number.

Keisuke wasn’t one to dwell in the past and submit himself to depressive thoughts, but with a day like this, it was just impossible not to want to curl on your bed and try to forget about everything.

Not even Chifuyu was allowed in his chamber, yet he remained outside just in case he was needed at some point, like the good friend and dutiful knight he is.

The queen was forced to admit you did a good job at the end, you did save her son and didn’t even let him out of your bubble until he was safe inside his own castle. Not a scratch on his face, only a broken heart. And that, was not your fault.

So there wasn’t really a reason to get your head for. Though she was still very much surprised of the tone her son used to defend you, she’s never seen him like this, it wasn’t just plain anger or pride as it usually is, she could see hurt in his eyes, he was hurting at the thought of his own mother hurting you, he was even willing to leave her side if she was to even think of touching you ever again, and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’ve been staying in the castle for a week now, unable to return to your cottage in the forest as any time now Kisaki could return and you were the only one able to stop said man.

The castle is a wonderful place, not just big and luxurious, but everyone working in it was lovely to be around. Your chambers were an absolute divinity, your bed as comfortable and big as it could ever be. Even a full wardrobe filled with appropriate gowns for a lady living in the castle to your absolute disposition. It was a beautiful place, but your favorite place was their gardens. They had a greenhouse full of herbs and rare plants and you’ve been visiting it ever since. 

Today, however, your loyal companion has gone missing, disrupting your routine. 

Every witch has a black cat, those are the rules. 

While they don’t really do much in terms of boosting magic or helping with a witch’s line of work, one can be very lonely when following this path, and as your only friend while growing up, yours was very special.

“Chifuyu, have you seen a black kitty around?” Chifuyu was polishing his sword by the pond, as Ryusei had the prince’s watch turn.

“A black kitty? Why would there be a cat in the castle, my lady?” 

“Oh well, he’s mine actually…I haven’t seen him since this morning and it’s starting to worry me…” pets were forbidden in the castle, but you must not be aware of that.

“I haven’t seen him, but I promise I’ll look around while I do my rounds and get him for you, my lady.” as charming as always, Chifuyu tended to leave a smile on your face, not even the disappearance of your mischievous feline friend being able to wipe it from your face.

In all truth, everyone in the castle loved to have you around, your were so kind, not to mention beautiful…the entire royal guard and even the army guys were all nice and sweet to you, even the scarier looking ones like Shiba Taiju. But Chifuyu was by far your favorite and it wasn’t entirely a secret.

“Thank you, you’re a life saver. Let me know if I can do anything for you!” at your comment, a hint of pink glazed his handsome features and he just nodded at your remark, you were so delightful in his eyes, but you were also the only woman who gets across his king.

“It’s my job, think nothing of it!” with a little wave, he left for his rounds and you continued on your own search of the little troublemaker.

While you were walking along the long halls of the castle, a hint of a fluffy black tail caught your eye, and it was going into that one place he shouldn’t of go to for anything in this world. 

The prince’s room.

With a soft knock to his door, the door opened up slightly, startling you. Peeking just a bit from the crack of the door, you caught sight of something beautiful and something you were clearly not expecting.

The prince was laying on his bed, your cat on top of his chest seemingly about to take a comfortable nap. 

“Merlin! What do you think you are doing? Come here right this instant!” you whisper-yelled at the cat who opened one an eye to glare at you, just to close it once more right after, ignoring your request.

“Come on in and close the door…jeez…people can’t even sleep in this place anymore…” 

Doing as instructed, you stepped into his chambers, trying not to wake up Ryusei who was very much asleep outside the prince’s doors. “Excuse me, my prince. It was not my intention to wake you up…”

“So who’s Merlin? Your boyfriend or something?” he scoffed, rolling on his side and taking the cat along for some cuddling.

“Um, no, your highness. The cat you’re holding. His name is Merlin, he’s my companion.”

“Don’t speak nonsense, his name is Peke J and he’s my friend.” that made you giggle, he really liked to hear your cute laughter, though this was the first time he caused it and not Chifuyu or Draken…it made him feel something, even if he didn’t fully understand what that something was.

“He’s your friend, my prince? You do have many of those already, why would you be in need of my furry companion?” 

He motioned for you to sit on the lounge chair next to his bed as he stared at the window, “He doesn’t ask questions, and is very warm…”

He was right, those were two of your favorite attributes of your dear friend. “He is also very fluffy.” This made him smile, you weren’t asking questions either, nor coaxing him to come out of his chambers like everybody else, you were different, and that was what he liked about you the most.

“He is indeed…” there was a comfortable silence in the room, none of you had the need to say anything else, yet the company of the other was very much welcomed.

The little devil however, had very different plans. He started by pawing at Keisuke’s face, he was clearly bored and trying to get someone to play with him, but cats are just that, and one can’t blame them for it. One of his claws ended up scratching the prince’s cheek, earning a horrified gasp out of you. “Merlin!”

“Peke J…” the prince corrected.

“Peke J, what did I say about scratching people!” The smile on the prince’s face was so bashful and blinding as you took his side without arguing. His canines were showing, his eyes fully closed as his face scrunched up with glee. Even if his face had just been hurt by the fierce creature, he was having the best time in a long a while.

“My prince…your face is bleeding…” without thinking much of your own actions, you sat on his bed, your hand closing in to his face.

“It’s just a scratch, I won’t die from this…” 

“You might not die from it, but that doesn’t make what he did right. Let me take care of it, please your highness..” Baji Keisuke was blushing, that had never happened before, not like this at least. Your face was so close, he could count your eyelashes if he wanted to, your hand emitted an enticing warmth and all he wanted was for you to close the distance already, so he just nodded.

“Thank you, my prince.” a soft light came out of the palm of your hand as you placed it over his cheek, the little scratch disappearing almost instantly. He felt no pain or discomfort whatsoever, on the contrary, he felt a warmth in his chest, and that was something new.

“So you really can do magic, huh? That bubble thing you put me in was quite impressive…” he didn’t want to think of that day anymore, but he also didn’t want you to end the conversation and leave, and that’s all he could come up with.

“I sure can, your highness. I apologize if it was a little uncomfortable, I tried my best to make it soft and weather proofed with the little time I had to act.” the smirk on his face meant troubles, but in all truth, you liked seeing it back on his face, he didn’t look as gloomy as before.

“So it wasn’t my imagination then, I could feel this little comforting breeze…I thought I was loosing my mind…” his chuckles were like music to your ears, Peke J seeming to like them as well as he was now jumping all over the place, playing with his new friend.

“It wasn’t, my prince. It’s all I could do to try to alleviate the painful moment you were going through, even if it was just a little.” and it did, he remembers feeling safe, like if he was inside his mother’s womb, warm yet comfortable, a place nobody could hurt him in.

“Sometimes I wish you could just put me in that bubble and just leave me there forever…But that wouldn’t be cool for a king, right…?” you could hear the sadness and uncertainty in his words, it was heartbreaking not being able to do much for someone who needs it.

“Well I don’t know about it being cool or not, but if you ever need my bubbles, all you need to do is ask.” your smile was so pure, so sincere, this feeling of safety and warmth was a constant thing when you were around, it was definitely strange, but he wanted more of it.

“Can you show me some more magic? I’ve always want to do some myself, but you have to be born with the powers to do so and I was born king, not wizard…”

“That’s not entirely true, my prince…I’ve been working in something that might be of your interest, it’s still in a trial period, but it worked with Merl- I mean Peke J…” 

“Oh yeah? What’s it about?” the excitement in his eyes was like one of a child in Christmas Day, he loved feeling this way, it was like he could really be himself when he was around you, he didn’t have to be the cool tough guy everyone admired, or the future king, he was just fifteen-year-old Baji Keisuke, nothing more.

This got you going, you could nerd around all you wanted about magic, nobody ever let you do that, so you were as excited as he was, “Well, its about channeling my magic to someone who doesn’t have any, and use their thoughts and feelings to create something new. It’s like being able to see how their magic would work if they had any!” 

Keisuke’s eyes were sparkling, that was such an awesome idea and to think it just came out of you probably a day you were just bored playing with your cat, you were indeed an interesting girl like no other he’s ever met. “That sounds super cool! What did Peke J’s looked like?”

“Since he’s a cat, I thought his magic display would be very small since the spell relies on feelings, but that day, it was raining you see, it was a full on storm…” Keisuke was fully immersed in your storytelling, biting onto his nails wanting to hear more of it, “and can you believe it stopped raining?” both of you burst out laughing together, “He really hates water...”

“He does…but not only that, the weather turned to this perfect spring afternoon, the sun warm and shining above, and for what…?” 

“He just wanted to nap, didn’t he?” you just nodded, giggling, causing him to continue laughing as well.

This was so much fun, he had never had so much fun by just talking to someone. “Would you like to try it, my prince? I’m not sure if it’ll work but I can assure you it’s not dangerous.”

He was intrigued, what would his even look like. “Ok but can you show me yours first? I’ve seen you do magic but sounds like this is a bit different?”

“Yes, it is. It’s like showing your true self. Let me show you. It consists of clearing your mind and just feel. My magic will manifest and make it visible.” he nodded with excitement, sitting now on his knees, a little restless waiting for your display.

He was drawn to how beautiful you looked with your eyes closed, he couldn’t really hear anything at all anymore, not even the servants running around outside in the corridors, it was just you and him now, and he loved every second of it. 

Then a pinkish mist started to mingle in the air and colorful glittery butterflies started appearing everywhere, one in particular landing on his nose.

“Wow, so this is what your magic truly looks like, huh? It’s very fitting…” your eyes opened to a wonderful sight, he was smiling so purely again, like a little boy enjoying your display to the max. 

“How so, my prince?”

“Well it feels warm and smells sweet. It’s also very beautiful…” his words made you blush, yet he didn’t even do it on purpose, he was speaking from the heart, completely immersed in the magical experience.

“Would you like to see yours now, your highness?” he just nodded, waddling over to you, “Do I just like close my eyes then?” 

“Yes, my prince. If you excuse me, I must be closer so my magic can flow through you.” he waited for you patiently, not refusing the implications of your words, yet not fully expecting what was about to happen.

You pressed your forehead on his, closing your eyes while holding both of his hands in yours. “You can close your eyes now, my prince.” He couldn’t stop looking at you though, you were so, so close that he could feel your breath on his cheeks, and it was doing things to his head. “O-oh, yeah, sorry.” clearing his throat, he closed his eyes, doing his best to clear his mind.

He could feel your magic flow through his veins, just like before, he felt warm inside, yet this time was a little different. Even if he wasn’t thinking about anything, just the feeling of your hands around his were making his heart hammer against his ribs, and it manifested once you both opened your eyes.

Contrary to what you thought it would happen, your magic was still lingering, it intertwined with his, which was exactly what he was feeling in that moment, unity, happiness, love…

Tiny forest animals made out of blue fog came to your feet, transforming his chambers into a magical fairy tale like landscape, it was truly beautiful what your magic combined could create.

“This is not just me…it’s…us…” he was smiling at the little fog animals, crouching down to pet them, this was fantastic, your magic was truly something amazing, a safe and happy environment, a place he could forget reality and it’s awful consequences in.

“I wonder what went wrong, it should be showing only your feelings…”

“Well…it’s probably my fault then, this really shows my feelings…you were in them after all…” his pouty embarrassed expression was the cutest and sweetest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He was truly precious, not at all close to that tough persona he likes to portrait.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying my little experiment, my prince. It’s truly refreshing seeing you like this.”

His smile was sincere, even when the fog animals were temporary and were dissipating quickly, he felt a satisfying sense of happiness within him. “You’re like medicine…”

“My prince?” his words were as enigmatic as always…causing you to tilt your head to the side slightly confused.

“I feel so much better when you’re around…wether is your bubbles or your animals, even your smile…just makes me forget all the crap that’s going on in my life…” was he confessing or something? It caught you off guard but it also filled your heart with warmth.

“It’s an honor, your majesty. I’ll be here whenever you need of my services.”

“I don’t need your services, you idiot…I need you…” he turned around so you couldn’t see his face contort in embarrassment nor the incredibly invasive blush covering his face.

“Then let me rephrase that…I’ll be here whenever you need me, my prince.” this made him smile, Peke J jumping on his head and curling on its top. “Can he stay with me for the night…?”

“Of course, my prince.”

“Also… can you…stop calling me that? I know I’m your prince, your king and all that, but above all I’m just Keisuke…you don’t need to call me by my titles when it’s just the two of us around…” even if he was talking to you, his eyes were on the cat as he looked himself in his mirror, unable to look at you in the eyes.

“Anything for you, my prin-…I mean…Keisuke….” 

There it was again…that smile…that beautiful smile that could take anyone’s breath away. And it was just for you.

“Good night, (Y/N).”

“Good night, Keisuke.” 

And so, the prince and the witch stopped being just that, something more beyond words growing within both as time went by.

But not everything was all love and sparkles…a few floors down in the dungeons, a dark aura could be felt infiltrating them from the sewers...

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・●

Masterlist Next Chapter

[abyssal-debonair]

Was approached to help this lad with the Enchantment quests and as I was explaining things, I realize—

I’m the ikeman vet now.

What the hell

[pecanwriter]

The Orc's Lover

Themes: Body worship, affectionate feeder/encourager, fantasy setting, Orc/Elf couple

Words: 2741

“You wanna play the harp to my patrons?” Zaranor asked the elven bard. He looked at his sharp cheekbones and chiselled jaw with dismay. All the poor elves were so scrawny and slim, not a bit of meat on any of them. The bard’s face was bad enough, but his body was equally sad to Zaranor, a thin, almost lithe waist, his stomach almost sunken in, narrow hips and long, slender legs… Zaranor let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t sure his patrons would be interested in elven music, but that way he could at least put some proper food into this poor lad. 

“So what brings you to the Orc Country?” He asked, wiping down an ale mug where he stood behind the bar. “I didn’t really fit into the elven society, my parents are scholars, and they didn’t approve of me becoming a travelling bard.” The elven bard said. “I went to the Human Lands, but they’re… peculiar creatures.” 

Zaranor hummed in understanding. Humans were, indeed, strange. 

“So I came here. I hear Orc Country is a much friendlier place than people at home made me believe.” He smiled at Zaranor and he couldn’t help but think he could be really pretty if he wasn’t so wretchedly thin. 

“What’s your name then, elven bard?” “My name is Tarkilon.” he gave a small, smooth bow. No meat on that one, not one bit, Zaranor couldn’t help but note. 

“I’m Zaranor.” He poured a big jug of Cream Ale, an Orkish speciality, a honey ale that was mixed with heavy cream into a thick sweet drink full of great nutrition. "Here, drink this. And then, you can entertain my quests."

Tarkilon smiled, smelled the drink uncertainly, took an experimental sip and his eyes widened in surprise.

"This is really good!" He drank it eagerly from that point on, and Zaranor nodded with satisfaction. Maybe he would make this little skinny thing look a little better, at least. He seemed like such a nice young man, it would be a shame if he were wasting away.

Tarkilon’s playing was surprisingly very well received by the Orkish audience, and Zaranor could see why, the elf played absolutely beautifully. But he heard the same things from his patrons that he was thinking himself; it was such a shame to see such a small skinny thing waste away when he clearly had so much talent. The more enthusiastic fans of the music would order snacks and food and cream ale jugs for the artist and he would accept it all graciously. Zaranor watched from behind the bar, nodding in approval. 

“I think I had too much ale…” Tarkilon slurred slightly. The bar was already emptied out for the night and the Inn guests disappeared into their rooms, it was only Zaranor finishing his cleaning up and the bard. 

Zaranor looked at the skinny thing. He was looking a little better with his face flushed from ale and his previously sunken-in stomach now pushing against his shirt, filled with all the food the patrons were sending him. 

“You had just enough.” Zaranor smiled at him. “Come, I will let you a room to stay tonight. He helped the swaying elf to his feet and led him to a room at the back, massaging little circles into his stuffed belly as they walked. 

*

“You’re leaving already?” Zaranor stared at the bard. “I thought you’d want to stay for at least a few days!” “One of the patrons from yesterday has an entertaining band, they travel all around Orc Country playing and entertaining, he invited me to join them! I can travel without having to figure out the routes myself, this is exactly what I was looking for.” He beamed. “Thank you for letting me play here yesterday. And for letting me stay the night. When the band passes this way I’m definitely coming for a jug of that Creamy Ale!” He leaned over the counter and kissed Zaranor on the cheek. With that and his harp slung on his back, the elf was gone. 

Zaranor let out a pained sigh, watching as his long skinny legs carried him outside. 

“I hope they will at least feed him properly.” He said, patting his own round belly. What was a man without some meat to him, after all? 

*

“Zaranor!”

Zaranor looked up from where he was agonising over the profits and his mouth widened into a smile. It’s been six months since Tarkilon left with the entertaining band and he was looking decidedly better. His face softened a little, his legs and hips were rounding out nicely, filling the legging he had on and there was a little paunch above his belt. Still looking way, way too skinny and weak in Zaranor’s opinion, but it was a step in the right direction. “Welcome back!” He hurried to the bar, pouring a jug of Creamy Ale for the elf. “How is Orc Country treating you?” “It’s been really great! I really love it here, I should’ve left the Elven Lands a lot sooner…” He seemed wistful, absently rubbing the tiny fold of flesh on his belly. Coming back to himself, Tarkilon smiled widely at Zaranor. “I’ve met a lot of nice orcs but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

Lost for anything coherent to say, Zaranor just poured him another Creamy Ale and pushed it into the elf’s hand. 

“Can I play here tonight?” “I’d be very happy if you did.” 

The elf beamed and downed the jug in one long gulp. 

Similarly to last time, all his patrons kept sending food and drink Tarkilon’s way all night, and he obligingly accepted it all. 

“I think I’m never going to move from this chair.” Tarkilon said, let out a groan as he leaned back, undoing the laces of his legging and letting his now perfectly round, bloated belly free of the lacing. Zaranor observed the roundness with satisfaction. He was starting to look good, Zaranor really hoped the elf’s belly would be this round permanently very soon. For his own good. It wouldn’t do to be this skinny, not in Orc Country. 

“Come, elf, I will lend you a room for the night.” 

“How’s about…” Tarkilon wrapped his arms around Zaranor’s neck as he was helping him up. He pressed his small, bloated belly into Zaranor’s own soft gut. “How’s about you lent me your bed… With you in it?” 

Zaranor squeezed his big green hand between their bodies to massage the elf’s belly. He leaned down to nip at the long, pointy ear as he led the elf to his room. 

* “The band is leaving today.” Tarkilon said the next morning, lying next to Zaranor. His belly was sadly deflated and only the little paunch remained. Zaranor could think of little else than preparing all the best Orkish breakfast specialities and feeding them to the elf. He needed some meat on his bones, this just wouldn’t do. 

“Stay.” Zaranor said firmly. “Really?” “Stay. Play for my patrons. And I will feed you and love you and make you beautiful and strong.” 

Tarkilon laughed. 

“So you think I’m too skinny like all the orcs from the band did too?” “Yes. But I will soon remedy that.” He kissed Tarkilon softly, careful not to get his tusks too close to his delicate elven skin. “Let me love you like a proper orc loves their mate.” 

Instead of a reply, Tarkilon moved in between Zaranor’s legs, his pale elven mouth soon closing in on it’s target. Zaranor let out a nasty orkish curse and rocked his hips, already thinking of all the foods he was going to feed the elf that was no his. He had to put some meat on his bones, it was improper for a respected orc like himself to have such a skinny little thing in his bed, oh no, it wouldn’t do at all.

*

“Zaranor, my love, you must order new clothes for me.” 

Tarkilon came out from behind the partition where they had their bath, he was only wearing a loin cloth and a tunic that wouldn’t reach past his soft chest. 

Zaranor, still splayed in bed, examined his elf appreciatively. It’s been about seven months since Tarkilon decided to stay and he was blossoming beautifully. Although he still wasn’t up to the orkish standards of beauty, he was definitely on the right path. His belly was now not only a little paunch but a fully formed, round belly, starting to sag slightly against his very nicely widening hips. His legs were filling in nicely as well, slowly getting some proper meat on them, from his rounded calves to the thickening tights. His face was looking better and better too, with a much softer jawline and softer cheeks, a small suggestion of a beautiful double chin was starting to form as well. 

“I will order you anything you want, my love.” He came up to his lover, placing an appreciative hand against his soft belly and giving it a little shake, marvelling at how it jiggled. Elf skin was much more delicate and softer than orc skin, so their bodies didn’t really shake and jiggle like that and Zaranor found himself completely enamoured by it. “But perhaps I should order them with some room to grow. I need to put some meat on your bones, after all, this is Orc Country.” 

*

“Stop it! Tarkilon laughed, slapping Zaranor’s hand away. “You’re so silly, Zar.” “Do it again.” He demanded. 

Tarkilon laughed but obliged. He moved his knees from one side to the other where he laid on the bed with his legs bent. The motion sent his entire body jiggling and rippling and swaying and Zaranor felt like he could watch it forever. 

It’s been about two years since his elf came to live with him and he was really filling out nicely. His belly was now big and soft, hanging in front of him proudly, sagging low and almost covering his entire groin. His chest was soft and with a pair of beautiful tits, Zaranor couldn’t help but bite on every single night. There was a ring of soft, doughy flesh starting to develop around Tarkilon’s softening face and the prominent double chin. Although Zaranor loved all of these things about his lover’s body, his favourite were his legs and ass. Since elves had much thinner skin, Tarkilon’s legs and ass looked like they were made of curdled milk with a layer of delicate milky white skin on top. Zaranor loved it, loved touching it, biting it, kissing it. And he loved how it bounced and jiggled and slapped against each other every time his lover took a step. 

“Turn around,” Zaranor ordered and looked at his lover as he changed position, his beautiful body jiggling with every move. He marvelled at the wide, ample hips and how Tarkilon’s ass and legs were spread on the bed’s surface, making him look even wider and more beautiful than when he was standing up. He kissed and bit and squeezed the elf’s delicate doughy ass, already thinking that he’d have to make him this wide even when he was standing up. This was Orc Country, you needed some meat on your bones!

*

Zaranor looked up from the ledger where he was sorting through the Inn’s finances in his small office. He heard a loud crack, and when he looked up he was his beautiful lover bent down with a big crack ripped in his legging, revealing his glorious, curdled milk ass. 

“Oh-uh.” Tarkilon said, trying to see the damage but unable to twist around enough to see over his own increased bulk. “I will have to order you some new clothes, my sweet, beautiful elf.” He came from behind his desk to kiss his lover, pulling him close and feeling very satisfied that encompassing him in his arms was starting to be difficult. 

Tarkilon was filling out beautifully, Zaranor accomplished his goal of making his hips and ass much wider, along with it grew his beautiful, heavy belly, his soft tits that Zaranor loved to suck on these days. There was a definite roll of fleshy softness around the elf’s neck, moving and squishing his soft face every time he moved his head. Each day Zaranor was finding a new roll of fleshy softness somewhere on his lover’s body, or noticing him getting just a little wider, his belly hanging just a little lower. He beamed with pride every time someone gawked at him with obvious awe or even stared daggers at Zaranor with jealousy. He relished those looks, he wanted everyone in town to know this beautiful, gorgeous creature that could play harp like no other and make Zaranor feel loved like no one ever did was his and only his. All of him, all that gorgeous, jiggly soft flesh and the elf adorned with it. All his. 

*

“I didn’t know elves could be so beautiful!” He heard one of the patrons say to his comrade as they left the Inn at the end of the night after Tarkilon’s concert for the evening came to an end. 

Zaranor smiled in self-satisfaction. No other elf was as beautiful as his lover was, he didn’t even doubt it for a second. It’s been almost five years since Tarkilon came to stay with him. 

Zaranor looked at where he sat still with the harp in his soft fleshy hands. The elf was simply a vision of perfection. His gorgeous soft body continued to steadily expand over the years, his curdled milk legs and ass were simply a work of art, spreading wide, taking up nearly the entire bench he was sitting on. It was a new one, of steadier wood, the old one couldn’t handle Tarkilon’s beautiful body anymore. His soft, doughy belly hang between his widely spread legs, hanging off the edge of the bench and peeking out from underneath his tunic. The belly was a perfect shelf for Tarkilon to keep his harp on, although it was sinking quite a bit into the doughy, gorgeous flesh. 

“Zar?” Tarkilon called over front the bench and Zaranor abandoned the bar, ready to serve his perfect elf in any way he could. 

“Will you help me up, please?” He asked, putting the harp away and outstretching his arms, making the soft flesh on them sag and swing from side to side. His beautiful elf couldn’t really get up without his help anymore, his beautiful body too much in the way of his movement. Zaranor was happy that his lover needed him, and relied on him. Being there for this gorgeous creature was all he really wanted to do. 

He pulled his lover up, even his orkish strength straining slightly as the incredible, magical body jiggled and wobbled around with the force of standing up. 

“I think I had too much ale.” his elf complained, swaying a little. 

“Let’s get you to bed, my beloved.” He said softly and led Tarkilon in front of him, following a half step after, at the elf’s pace. He looked with fascination and a growing, warm feeling in his chest as his elf waddled down the corridor to their rooms. They used to live on the top floor, but his beautiful elf didn’t really do stairs these days. Zaranor marvelled, looking at how his elf waddled, how his enormous, soft tights rubbed against each other, both they and the massive hips and ass jiggling and sloshing around with every step. When they made it to their room Tarkilon halted briefly, his ample, gorgeous hips momentarily stuck in the doorframe. Zaranor gave him the gentlest of pushes to get him through and then helped to rearrange his elf’s folds and rolls on the bed so he would be comfortable. He climbed into bed himself and as he ran his hand over the gorgeous, doughy flesh, sinking his fingers deep into it he made a mental note to have a carpenter brought in to widen the door. He couldn’t have his incredible, beautiful lover bruise his perfect hips on the doorframe now, could he?

No, a wider door was needed. Especially when he knew his beautiful elf was only going to get wider.

A little drawing of Tarkilon

[wandercatt]

15-20

15. Made a new friend

i’d like to say i’ve made new friends, but lately, all i’ve gathered are colleagues—workplace ties bound by tasks and deadlines. there are a few i trust more than most, yet the shadows of old betrayals keep me from calling them friends. they’re allies, for now, companions in the grind, and i’d stand by them as they would for me. but we’ve yet to reach that unspoken understanding where the day fades, and we share a quiet drink without the weight of titles between us.

16.

odd. theres no #16

17. Laughed until you cried

it’s hard to recall a single moment where laughter took over completely, but the small joys of daily banter with the team always keep things light. yet, if i had to choose, it would be our recent team building—laughter spilling over into tears, my voice lost somewhere in all the joy. we weren’t just colleagues then, but a group of people swept up in the moment—drinks in hand, pushing each other into the pool, caught in the kind of fun that makes you forget who you’re supposed to be. for a little while, we weren’t the mortgage guys, just a bunch of lads, living in that shared, passing happiness.

18. Met someone who changed you

answered

19. Found out who your true friends were

this year didn’t bring new revelations about true friends; that wisdom came to me long ago. @0nan and @ssoulsearching, and a handful of others who shine with a light all their own. i’ve moved beyond the quest to discern the genuine from the superficial. now, i’m content with the small circle that resides in my heart, knowing they’re the ones who truly matter. these are the bonds that endure, the ones that make every day brighter.

20. Found out someone was talking about you

i’ve certainly heard my name in less-than-flattering whispers more times than i care to count, but that’s a familiar tale. what i truly long for is the rare delight of hearing my name spoken with genuine affection. so far, that kind of attention has slipped through my fingers. i find myself yearning to be the one pursued, to inspire someone’s poetry or dance through their daydreams. but, as they say, a boy can dream.

[showmethecrowfacts]

Shipwreck

As I step off the dock’s hard wood

My tiny boat upheaving

I spare a glancing look behind

At all that I am leaving

My town, my home for decades past

My wife and child sleeping

The smell of home the scent of life

A land of secret keeping

I cannot bear to leave it so

In early morning resting

But I must quickly part from here

A journey aches for questing

I seek my crew among the waves

Long time since last I saw them

Across the sea to islands far

And briny depths beneath them

A captain now of my small boat

A first mate on that vessel

My best friend was the captain there

The king aboard his castle

My captain was an honored man

We often sing his valor

Though honor bound to stay his side

I loved him-sea and harbor

At night inside the captain’s den

His quarters were my resting ground

And I had share of all he owned

And often in his bed was found

He loved me more than any man

Though not more than my lovely

My wife she did admire him

And he thought highly of she

The first I saw him hold my wife

Wrapped in his arms so snugly

I thought that by comparison

He’d surely find me ugly

But he just laughed and pulled me near

And whispered “Dearest pest”

“There’s room in here for both of you”

And firmly pat his chest.

It was his eyes that struck me then

Alight with joy and laughter

The picture of her kissing him

Stays with me ever after

Out on the sea as day lifts high

I paddle ever onward

To find one love of my true life

To where his voice I last heard

The night I left we had a fight

Which I’ll regret forever

For letting him think he was right

In his foolish endeavor

The news had been a shocking blow

That he had not sailed homeward

To think that he was lost at sea

Seemed altogether backward

The morning when I woke alone

I hardly thought it error

I merely shook my head and thought

We’d soon be back together

Deep in the sky a storm has rose

As day leaks into sunset

I have to keep on moving through

To outrun my one regret

It is her eyes that haunt me now

Devoid of life or brightness

The image of him kissing her

His face engulfed in sadness

And as he wept and pulled me near

And whispered “Let her rest”

I knew that I could never fit

Beside her in that chest.

The last I saw him hold my wife

And lower her so gently

I wished we could take her to sea

To stay with us eternally

We loved her more than any can

But loved still more our child

And she must stay here with our lad

In grasses he ran wild

In bed we never drew a line

We never sought the answer

To whom the child likened most

Our darling bright and clever

My captain was a heartsick man

Who left within the hour

And I who swore to stay his side

Could not move from his bower

A first mate he just went without

A captain without sanity

Without his mates, without his child

No vestige of humanity

He took our crew out on those waves

And never more I saw them

Across the world I seek them now

To rest at last beside them

The sea my home for decades past

My ship and crewmates sleeping

Among the briny depths below

The place of endless weeping

As I step up onto the edge

Of worlds beyond my knowing

I know just who I long to meet

But don’t know where I’m going.

Written by Listener Pyroska/Showmethecrowfacts

[daitranscripts]

The Final Piece Pt. 1

The Altar of Mythal (Inquisitor Drank)

The Final Piece Masterpost Previous Quest: What Pride Had Wrought

The party arrives at a structure in the Arbor wilds.

PC: It’s here. I can feel it.

Party comments:

Solas: Yes. I feel it as well.

Cole: I can hear it. It’s calling to you.

Dorian: Are you certain it’s still in one piece?

Vivienne: There seems to be nothing out here but wilderness.

Varric: You sure? There aren’t any ruins in these parts.

Sera: Probably just a pile of rocks.

PC (after party comment): I’m sure it’s here. Just keep an eye out.

They enter the structure and see a large stature ahead.

PC: There it is!

They approach the altar.

PC: This is all that’s left of the altar. “We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy, without fear.”

Solas (if in party): “ Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear.”

Dialogue options:

Arcane: I know what this place is. PC: Strange that there wasn’t an altar like this at Mythal’s temple. The temple was a place of justice, but this… is different. This was where the elves called to her. Spoke to her. Then one day she disappeared, and they had no one to speak to. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

General: This place is beautiful. PC: It’s beautiful here. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

General: Sounds ominous. PC: “Without mercy.” That’ll give anyone pause. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

General: Let’s get this done. PC: Call, and she will come–simple enough.

Party comments:

Cassandra: Do you need to do this alone?

Vivienne: Would it be better if we left, my dear?

Iron Bull: You want us to piss off you you can get to it?

Blackwall: This ritual… should we leave you alone?

Dorian: Do you need help, or should we leave?

Sera: Right. I’m out.

Varric: You want us to stick around, or should we leave?

Cole: Should we go? I think we should go.

Solas: Should I leave you?

PC: Don’t go too far. I may need your help, if there’s trouble.

The party leaves, and Morrigan approaches.

Morrigan: You will perform this mysterious summoning alone, Inquisitor? Very bold.

Dialogue options:

General: Are you here to help? [1]

General: Couldn’t resist, I see. [2]

General: Alone means “without you.” [3]

1 - General: Are you here to help? PC: Did you come here to help, or to satisfy your curiosity? Morrigan: I am eager to see what manner of creature responds to your call. Who would not be? [4]

2 - General: Couldn’t resist, I see. PC: Just couldn’t stay away, could you? Morrigan: I am eager to see what manner of creature responds to your call. Who would not be? [4]

3 - General: Alone means “without you.” PC: That means you also need to leave. Morrigan: And do you even know what manner of creature will answer your call? [4]

4 - Scene continues.

PC: The voices say it will be Mythal.

Morrigan: And what is Mythal, beyond something thousands of years dead and gone?

The PC closes their eyes.

PC: They say you can remain.

Morrigan: How very hospitable of them.

PC: You know who I am: the last to drink from your Well of Sorrows. Come to me, Mythal. Whatever you are, whoever remains, I invoke your name and your power.

They begin to pace in front of the altar, and Flemeth appears.

Morrigan: Mother.

PC: “Mother”?

Flemeth: Now, isn’t this a surprise?

Dialogue options:

General: This is Mythal? [5]

General: You know her? [6]

General: What’s going on here? [7]

5 - General: This is Mythal? PC: So this is Mythal? Morrigan: She is a deceiving witch! [8]

6 - General: You know her? PC: I take it you know her? Morrigan: She is a deceiving witch! [8]

7 - General: What’s going on here? PC: What’s wrong? Morrigan: We have been deceived! [8]

8 - Scene continues.

Morrigan attempts to attack.

Flemeth: (Sighs.) Be a good [lad/lass] and restrain her.

The PC grabs her.

Morrigan: What are you doing? What… are you doing?

PC: I don’t know!

Flemeth: Of course you know. You drank from the Well, did you not?

Morrigan: Then… you are Mythal?

Dialogue options

Stoic: She is? [9]

Confused: You’re not even an elf! [10]

Angry: You’re no god. [11]

Pleased: I welcome you.[12]

Angry: Release me! [13]

9 - Stoic: She is? PC: That’s Mythal? Flemeth: You invoke that name so easily. I wonder if you know what it means? [14]

10 - Confused: You’re not even an elf! PC (Dalish): Mythal was the goddess of justice. I’ve seen the statues. She… Flemeth: Was one of the People. Yes, indeed.

PC (non-Dalish): Mythal was an elven god. You, you’re… Flemeth: Human? Not a word many have used for me in a very long time. [14]

11 - Angry: You’re no god. PC: I’m supposed to believe that you’re some kind of god? Flemeth: Clearly not the sort you had in mind, hmm? [14]

12 - Pleased: I welcome you. PC: If that’s true, then I thank you for answering my summons. Flemeth: You see, girl? Those are manners, as you require a demonstration. [14]

13 - Angry: Release me! PC: Whatever hold you have over me, release it now! Flemeth: That is entirely up to my dear daughter. [14]

14 - Scene continues.

Morrigan: I do not understand. How can you be Mythal?

Flemeth: Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.

Dialogue options:

General: She’s a part of you? [15]

General: That could be a demon. [16]

General: Why should we trust you? [17]

15 - General: She’s a part of you? PC: Then… you carry Mythal inside you? Flemeth: She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest. [18]

16 - General: That could be a demon. PC: That could have been a demon, lying to you. [18]

17 - General: Why should we trust you? PC: You can say anything you like. Why should we trust you? [18]

18 - Scene continues.

Flemeth: What do the voices tell you?

The PC closes their eyes to hear the voices.

PC: They say you speak the truth.

Flemeth: But what was Mythal? A legend given name and called a god, or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning.

Flemeth (Dalish PC): So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far. Flemeth (non-Dalish PC): A herald, indeed. Shouting to the heavens, harbinger of a new age.

Flemeth: As for me, I have had many names. But you… may call me Flemeth.

19 - Dialogue options:

History: I know who Flemeth is. [20]

Special (Dalish PC): The elves needed you. [21]

Investigate: Why stay secret? [22]

General: Will you help us? [23]

General: This was no accident. [24]

General: So what now? [25]

20 - History: I know who Flemeth is. PC (Dalish PC): I know the name “Flemeth.” My people call you Asha’bellanar, the woman of many years, and speak of your legend. PC (non-Dalish PC): I know the name “Flemeth.” It belongs to an ancient Fereldan legend.

PC: It says, long ago, you left your husband for a lover. Your husband then tricked you, killed your lover, and imprisoned you. Then a spirit came to offer you vengeance. Mythal–that’s what you spoke of. Flemeth: One day, someone will summarize the terrible events of your life so quickly. But, yes, I was that woman. That is how my tale began. PC: Flemeth appears in other legends, helping heroes for reasons of her own. Flemeth: I nudge history, when it’s required. Other times, a shove is needed. (Chuckles.) [26]

21 - Special: The elves needed you. PC: If Mythal is a part of you, why haven’t you helped us? We’ve called to you, prayed to you… Flemeth: What was could not be changed. PC: What about now? You know so much… Flemeth: You know not what you ask, child. [26]

22 - Investigate: Why stay secret? PC: If Mythal is within you, why not reveal yourself? Flemeth: And to whom should I reveal myself? PC: To the elves? To everyone? Flemeth: (Laughs.) I knew the hearts of men even before Mythal came to me. It is why she came to me. They do no want the truth, and I… I am but a shadow, lingering in the sun. [26]

Dialogue options:

Investigate: I need to understand. [26]

[Back to 19]

26 - Investigate: I need to understand. PC: Why did Mythal come to you? Flemeth: For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens. Morrigan: And you follow her whims? Do you even know what she truly is? Flemeth: You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl, because things happened that were never meant to happen. She was betrayed as I was betrayed–as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged! Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance. [back to 19]

23 - Will you help us? PC: We summoned you because we need your help. Flemeth: Against the magister who grasps beyond his reach. Yes, I know. [26]

24 - General: This was no accident. This meeting was no accident, was it? Flemeth: Clever [lad/girl]. Morrigan: The voices… came from you? Flemeth: The price of the Well seemed no dire thing when you saw so much gain, hmm? [26]

25 - General: So what now? PC: So what happens now? [26]

26 - Scene continues.

Flemeth: The voices did not lie, Inquisitor. I can help you. The altar’s guardian will come. Master the dragon, and it will be yours to command against Corypheus. Fail, and die.

She begins to leave.

Morrigan: Wait!

Flemeth: I wished to see who drank from the Well of Sorrows. It has been a very long time.

Flemeth: Now I have, and [they are] free to go.

Morrigan: But what of us?

Flemeth: A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me.

Flemeth leaves.

Morrigan: All things considered, Inquisitor, I now am rather pleased you drank from the well.

Dialogue options:

General: I’m not. [27]

General: That was bizarre. [28]

General: I hope this was worth it. [29]

27 - General: I’m not. PC: I’m not. What have I gotten myself into? Morrigan: Service to a being not quite as dead-and-gone as we thought. Now, I believe, you have a guardian of the altar to master.

28 - General: That was bizarre. PC: That was all… rather odd. Morrigan: Yes, well, Mother has always had that effect on people. Now, I believe, you have a guardian of the altar to master.

29 - General: I hope this was worth it. PC: All this had better be worth it. Morrigan: You will discover that shortly, I suspect.

A dragon descends, and the party fights it. The PC walks up to it and there is a glow, then the dragon flies away.

Party Comments:

Dorian: If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Blackwall: You stared it down. You actually stared it down!

Vivienne: And now it flies off? Just like that?

Iron Bull: Okay, yeah, that was impressive.

Cassandra: Why did it fly off? Will it come back?

PC: It will come when I summon it. Once. That’s enough to fight Corypheus, however. I have my dragon.

Party Comments:

Sera: So, when we find him, we’ll fight between two dragons? Mad plan. Love it.

Solas: Now we need only find Corypheus.

Cole: Now you find Corypheus. Before he finds you.

Varric: All you need now is Corypheus, and bam! Dragon fight!

The party returns to Skyhold.

Next Quest: Doom Upon All the World

[captmickey]

Know How To Pick Em, A King's Quest fanfic

Admittedly, this is entirely inspired by @thewatercolours fanfic Path of Kingship (which you should all absolutely read).

This is just me going "This is how No2 met No3"

Can be found on AO3

---

It wasn’t entirely unheard of for things to run as a skeleton crew, let alone within the castle confines of Daventry. It was, however, a massive grievance for everyone that has remained within the castle.

The remaining Royal Guards have gone from double shifts to triple, even quadruple, shifts. It was exhausting, taxing both mentally and physically, and at times overwhelming… but it wasn’t impossible. Not entirely. Especially so when under the reins of Royal Guard Number One who, Number Two theorizes, hasn’t slept for more than thirty minutes per day.

That wasn’t to say it was a bragging right by any means, but it was enough to have everyone, king included, frantically worry when the captain would stand still at absolutely random and sometimes snore.

This was why Number Two found himself in the mess hall with the newest guards. A forceful takeover from the second in command, sure, but the priorities of Number One laid with the castle maintenance and the crown itself. He also, personally, did not mind seeing over the training… it was very much a welcomed change of pace compared to picking fruits out of trees.

Glancing at the notes scribbled from the aforementioned leaders, Number Two couldn’t help but purse his lips from underneath his helmet. There weren’t a lot, but the four that were here, standing tall in their new armor, were personally picked. They had excelled in the physical and written exam and seemed to be bright eyed about the new ruler.

(As to why, he couldn’t say, but he couldn’t hold back a snort when it was brought up. The lad was promising, even he could admit, but right now it was still too new.)

Number One said he was going to keep selecting and reviewing potential guards… but because of how small the staff was, he could not wait for the traditional celebratory way the new royal guards nor could he see to their training as he needed them to start as soon as possible. Meaning Number Two was going to be at this for a moment.

And at it he was, as this was the third (fourth… maybe seventh) welcoming party he did for this batch of guards.

“Alright, you lot…” Number Two began, “welcome to the first day of your new lives. I’m certain you’ve been told of the difficulties that lay ahead, and I’m here to re-enforce that as we are in a bit of a…”

Painful transition, running around like a headless chicken, figuring out as we’re going. All terrible thoughts, Number Two thought, but those were the criticism of those that left the castle.

“Of a growing phase.” He said with a smirk. “And like all growing phases, it’s not always pleasant, and at times it’s painful. But I’m sure you all will be more than up for the task.”

“Captain!” They saluted in understanding.

Number Two, briefly, looked over his shoulder, wondering if perhaps Number One was in the room. But there was no one there. He looked back at the others, realizing they were calling him captain and he sighed.

“Excellent, but save that for the actual captain.” He said, lowering the notes. “I’m Second In Command, Royal Guard Number Two.”

Three of them flinched slightly and hesitantly lowered their arms, mumbling an apology. He couldn’t help but chuckle and shook his head.

“Quite alright, it is your first day and fortunately for you, your transition into being a Royal Guard will be gentle.” He paused and scoffed. “Well, gentle might not be the right word. I will still drill and train you in the same manner as Number One would.”

“Cap– sir!” They saluted.

“See? Learnin’ the ropes quickly.” He glanced back at his notes. “Right, I’m going to give you all your numbers. Remember, your names are off limits while on duty. While you’re in that armor and that helmet is on, you are your number. This is a matter of privacy and safety, but for now, I require helmets off.”

They all nodded and did as such, tucking it under their arms as they all stood tall.

Starting from the far left, Number Two glanced at the first one. A fairly built young man, though young may be in the eye of the beholder as he could very well be just a year or so younger.

“Lewis?” Number Two asked.

“Sir.” The man, Lewis, confirmed.

“Congratulations, you are now Number Five. You may put back your helmet.”

“Sir.” Number Five nodded.

Continuing down the line he stood in front of another man, definitely younger, that was for certain. Number Two glanced at his notes and read it as ‘Philip’.

“Philip, you are now Number Six. Congrats, helmet on.”

“Sir.” Number Seven nodded and slipped his helmet back on.

“Hubert?” Number Two looked at the fellow, noting the extremely slicked back hair and stoic expression. “Many congrats, you are Number Seven.”

Number Seven, quietly said thanks and gave a nod before slipping his helmet back on. Probably with ease, Number Two thought.

He stopped by the last one, wondering if, perhaps, Number One in his sleep deprived stupor, added an additional ‘A’ to the name of the last figure. There were many notes on that one, plenty from Graham himself based solely on the poor excuse of a handwriting that, hilariously, Number One had every right to criticize. Smiling - good, said Graham’s notes with a scribble of a smiley face. Excel in physical/written exam - see attach., said Number One’s notes.

A woman was Number Two’s mental notes.

Curly head of hair with eyes filled with enthusiasm and a hint of a smile ready to blossom on her face, no doubt she was trying to suppress that grin that the lad seemed so fond of.

“Robert…a?” Number Two asked, almost hesitantly.

“Yes, sir!” She saluted, her smile now prominent on her face. “Cadet Roberta, ready for her ranking!”

“Roberta… so not… not Robert.” Number Two looked once more at his notes, noting that there was no mention of her gender… then again, there was no mention of the others.

“Is there a problem with my name, sir?” Roberta asked, sounding a little less enthusiastic.

“Hm? Oh, no no, no problem at all–”

“Because the captain has a similar reaction with my name, sir.”

“Did he now?” Probably slipped his mask off for a moment, Number Two thought, normally Number One was on top of his hiding-his-emotions-in-front-of-everyone game. “What had he said of it then?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Of course.” Number Two looked at Roberta. “Just to be certain, you’re not taking a place for your brother, are you?”

At that, Roberta looked insulted. “Absolutely not, sir. But if I may speak freely, I am beginning to suspect you have an issue with my gender.”

And right there, Number Two realized why Number One liked her.

“No. No, not at all–”

“I’ll have you know that my being a woman has no drawbacks and I have scored rather well on all my exams and–”

“A-at ease, cadet.” Number Two quickly spoke, frantic in trying to diffuse the problem. “I was just merely understanding the captain’s writing.”

“What?” Roberta blinked.

He quickly showed her the notes, specifically the part of how her name was written, in a panic-induced gesture for one reason or another and her cheeks slowly looked flush.

“Ah, I can see the confusion now, sir.” Roberta said. “My apologies.”

“No, if anything, I should apologize.” Number Two sighed in relief. “Now, with that out of the way, your number?”

She widened her eyes and stood tall once more, saluting in the process. “Sir!”

“Congratulations, Number Three. At ease.”

“N… number…” she smiled from ear to ear, seemingly surprised by her new number and, somehow, stood taller, “thank you sir! I won’t let you down.”

As Number Three beamed ever so brightly and slipped on her helmet, Number Two couldn’t help but hear a slight giggle escape from Number Three. He looked to the others, all with their helmets properly placed and standing tall and ready for training. Tucking away the notes (and making a note to talk to Number One about the new guards), he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I will see you all on the training field in thirty. Be sure to collect your swords from the armory. You are dismissed.”

“Sir!” They all saluted, but it was Number Three’s that sounded louder.

She, Number Two thought, was going to be the most interesting.

—-

As the new recruits gathered on the training grounds and practiced, Number Two followed Number One to observe the others, stopping any cadets to correct their posture or fighting form. Number One, whose arms were behind his back, observed each of the new recruits, trying to commit their faces, name, and number to memory so as to know who had one strength and weakness. Number Two, however, was keeping tabs to see who was working the hardest so as to make sure they didn’t work themselves too hard to prove one thing or another.

After all, it was his duty to oversee their training while Number One was helping Graham.

“I have to say, you sure know how to pick ‘em.” Number Two said.

“I take it that was a compliment?” Number One asked.

“Of course. Aside from the occasional correction, they are an eager lot.” He pointed out, looking at the recruits when his eyes landed on the curly haired newly ranked Number Three training with another guard. “Very… eager.”

Number One, noting the pause, raised a brow and followed the gaze of his second in command. “I take it you met Number Three.” He said.

“Roberta… yeah.” Number Two nodded.

“Something about her catching your eye?”

“I could ask you the same thing. She was… very animated when I met her, not something you usually are eager about if the lad is anything to go about.”

“True. But I believe my notes clarified my reasoning.” Number One said, his attention still on Number Three. “Excelled in her written exams. Scored first place, in fact. And her physical exam was nothing to scoff about.”

“Really?” Number Two looked at him, his own brow raised. “How so?”

“Why not ask her yourself?” Number One side-eyed him.

“I believe I shall.”

“How bold.” Number One chuckled slightly as Number Two shoved him.

Number Two walked over to Number Three, noting her pose as she swung her fist. Her pose wasn’t wrong, in fact it was nearly perfect. But there was always room for improvement… right?

“Impressive.” Number Two said, startling both Number Three and the other guard.

“Sir!” The two saluted, standing straighter as Number One walked up as well. “C-Captain!”

“At ease.” Number One gestured.

“What form is it you’re training on, if you don’t mind my asking?” Number Two asked.

“Oh, we were learning how to flip our enemies in case of a moment of being disarmed, sir.” Number Three beamed.

“Were you, now?” Number Two continued, his confusion about her physical exam still at an all time high but now… now impressed she was even trying. “It’s not proving challenging, is it? You did remember to use your core when doing such a feat?”

Number Three, at that, frowned a little. “It’s no challenge, sir. But I am curious, how would you go about it?”

“Oh. Well, I would first um…” Number Two looked at Number One who merely continued smirking, clearly too late to back out now. He sighed and then looked at the other guard. “Mind if I take over, mate?”

“Sir.” The guard saluted and stood back.

Number Two walked closer to Number Three, unsure how to go about it without actually hurting her. He had no doubt that she was strong, incredibly so if she caught Number One’s attention, but she was still a lady, and he made it a rule to never lay a hand on one. But she was asking for feedback, and he said he would be training them.

“Firstly, I wouldn’t leave myself so open, no point in leaving your arms so far apart, otherwise… I could do this.” Number Two leaned in, nearly grabbing her sides but halting just about. “See?”

“Hmm… yes, I do, sir.” Number Three nodded, the frown slightly subsiding. “I… I didn’t think about that.”

“No worries, that’s why we train, right?” He said, smiling a little.

He then gave a very nervous chuckle as she did not return the smile his way and he leaned back, clearing his throat slightly. “R-Right, well… care to try again?”

“Of course, sir.” Number Three quickly fell into position, almost eager, though her smile wasn’t shown. “Ready.”

Number Two nodded, feeling a bead of sweat on his forehead as he got into position. He really… really didn’t want to hurt a lady.

“Don’t hold back, now.” He instructed.

“I don’t intend on it, sir.”

“Huh?”

In a blink of an eye, as the spar began, Number Two saw the world go into a blur as all of his defenses got obliterated in an instant. Arms wrapped around his side and gripped him like an iron clasp, forcing his feet to be lifted from the ground with embarrassing ease. He saw, within the blur of colors, the training walls, the sky, and then the walls once more, though now upside down as the air got knocked out from his lungs.

It didn’t take long to realize he was suplexed in less than ten seconds.

And it was all by Number Three.

His cheeks felt slightly red at the realization and the very loud and prominent laughter of Number One, wheezing at the absolute humiliation of his second in command.

A humiliation, Number Two internally felt, was deserved for ever doubting or hesitating around Number Three.

“How was that, sir?” Number Three asked, rhetorically, no doubt.

“W-well done…” Number Two mumbled, remaining on the ground just as Number Three left him, “excellent job, Number Three…”

She gave a quick bow and huffed, walking away. Upside down.

Number Two, having not moved, just heard Number One’s laughter get closer to him and sighed.

“So, see now why I picked her?” Number One asked, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Very… very much.” Number Two said. “You know how to pick ‘em.”